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THE 
VOCATION  OF    MAN 


BY 

JOHANN  GOTTLIEB  FICHTE. 


TRANSLATED    BY 

WILLIAM  SMITH,  L.L.D. 

WITH    BIOGRAPHICAL   INTRODUCTION    BY 

E.  RITCHIE,  PH.  D. 


REPRINT  EDITION 


CHICAGO 
THE  OPEN  COURT  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

LONDON  AGENTS 
1931 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


/  6 


INTRODUCTION. 

"Whatever  is  great  and  good  in  our  own  age  is 
wholly  due  to  this,  that  noble  and  strong  men  in  the 
past  have  for  the  sake  of  ideas  made  sacrifice  of  all 
the  enjoyments  of  life."  This  statement  of  Fichte's 
is  indicative  at  once  of  the  spirit  that  pervaded  his 
philosophy  and  of  the  principles  that  governed  his 
life.  For  him  "  the  idea "  was  supreme,  and  the 
philosopher's  life  and  work  the  noblest  of  all  careers; 
but  that  life  and  that  work  had  true  significance 
and  value  only  because  they  led  humanity  to  ever 
loftier  and  purer  heights.  Like  Carlyle,  who  learned 
so  much  from  him,  Fichte  perhaps  overestimated  the 

rt  played  by  the  moral  hero  in  the  spiritual  evolu- 

•  i  tion  of  the  race,  and  we  must  admit  that  his  own 
t£  character  was  not  free  from  the  combativeness  and  ob- 

5  stinacy  which  so  often  accompany  great  intensity  of 

-  >  conviction,  yet  both  in  his  doctrine  and  his  life  his 

•  individualism   retained   always   its   uplifting   and   re- 
-r  generating  power.     If  his  opinions  were  held  stub- 

^'bornly    and*  sometimes    promulgated    dogmatically, 

they  were  ever  warmed  and  illuminated  by  an  ardent 

'3  moral  enthusiasm.     Few  are  the  earnest  students  of 

*  speculative  thought  who  after  a  thorough  study  of 
his  works  will  give  their  unqualified  assent   to  his 
system  as  a  whole,  but  perhaps  fewer  still  will  fail 
to  glean  something  of  value  for  thinking  and  living 
from  the  harvest  of  his  philosophy. 

iii 


767573 


iv  INTRODUCTION. 

Johann  Gottlieb  Fichte  was  born  on  the  iQth  of 
May,  1762,  at  the  village  of  Rammenau  in  Saxon 
Lusatia.  He  was  the  son  of  Christian  Fichte,  a  de- 
scendant of  one  of  Gustavus  Adolphus's  soldiers, 
who  made  a  poor  living  by  making  and  selling  linen 
ribbons.  Anecdotes  told  of  the  boy's  precocious  in- 
telligence, his  conscientiousness  and  his  stubbornness, 
show  that  in  Fichte's  case  the  child  was  "  father  of 
the  man."  A  landowner  of  the  neighbourhood  under- 
took to  educate  him,  and  he  was  sent  to  the  well- 
known  school  at  Pforta  near  Naumberg.  At  first  the 
proud  and  reserved  boy  suffered  much  from  the 
tyranny  of  the  older  lads,  but  later  his  school  life 
seems  tc  have  grown  happier.  To  his  school-days 
succeeded  years  of  acute  poverty  and  hard  study  as 
a  theological  student  at  Jena  and  Leipzig.  Unable 
from  lack  of  means  to  complete  his  course  he  engaged 
as  a  tutor  in  various  private  families.  In  this  capacity 
he  came  to  Zurich,  where  he  became  acquainted  with 
Hartmann  Rahn,  a  brother-in-law  of  Klopstock.  To 
Rahn's  daughter,  Johanna,  Fichte  was  at  once  at- 
tracted, and  a  strong  love,  destined  to  prove  life-long, 
sprang  up  between  them.  Fitche's  temper  was  too 
proud  and  his  ideas  on  education  were  too  original 
to  make  him  generally  acceptable  as  a  tutor,  and  he 
seldom  kept  a  situation  long.  In  1790  he  first  studied 
Kant's  philosophy,  which  caused  an  entire  revolution 
in  his  own  philosophic  ideas.  Hitherto  a  somewhat 
unwilling  adherent  of  the  doctrine  of  determinism, 
he  believed  he  had  found  in  the  critical  system  a  way 
of  escape,  and  henceforth  he  maintained  the  doctrine 
of  moral  freedom  with  ever-increasing  fervour  oi 
conviction.  The  next  year  he  went  to  Konigsberg  to 
visit  Kant,  but  he  seems  to  have  met  with  a  recep- 


INTRODUCTION.  v 

tion  which,  though  not  uncivil,  was  somewhat  cold 
and  reserved.  Shortly  after  he  published  the  Critique 
of  Revelation,  which  is  thoroughly  Kantian  in  spirit 
and  method;  and  the  author's  name  having  been  ac- 
cidentally omitted  from  the  title-page  it  was  received 
and  warmly  welcomed  as  a  work  from  the  old  philoso- 
pher's own  hand.  When  Fichte's  authorship  was  dis- 
closed his  reputation  was  made;  and  the  success  of 
the  book  enabled  Fichte  to  marry  Johanna  Rahn  in 
the  autumn  of  1793.  The  progress  of  the  French 
Revolution  led  Fichte  to  publish  a  number  of  tracts 
in  which  the  rights  of  the  people  were  established 
on  the  basis  of  the  inherent  moral  freedom  of  man. 
These  increased  his  fame,  though  they  caused  him  to 
be  regarded  by  conservatives  as  a  dangerous  and 
radical  teacher.  In  1794  he  was  appointed  Professor 
of  Philosophy  at  Jena,  then  at  the  zenith  of  its  re- 
nown. Here  his  success  as  a  lecturer  was  remark- 
able, but  difficulties  soon  occurred  both  with  unruly 
students  and  with  the  authorities.  Owing  to  an  ar- 
ticle published  in  the  Philosophical  Journal,  of  which 
he  was  editor,  a  cry  of  atheism  was  raised  against 
him,  the  Saxon  Government  condemning  the  "  Jour- 
nal "  and  demanding  the  expulsion  of  Fichte.  The 
Grand  Duke  of  Weimar  would  have  settled  the  mat- 
ter by  a  formal  censure,  but  Fichte  would  not  sub- 
mit to  any  semblance  of  interference  with  liberty 
of  teaching;  and  the  affair  ended  with  his  dismissal 
from  the  University.  He  repaired  to  Berlin,  where 
he  was  warmly  welcomed  by  Schelling,  the  Schlegels, 
Schleiermacher  and  other  literary  men,  but  the  loose 
morality  and  vague  sentimentality  of  the  Romanticists 
suited  neither  Fichte  nor  his  wife,  and  the  friend- 
ship gave  way  to  coldness  and  in  some  cases  to  hos- 


vi  INTRODUCTION. 

tility.  Meanwhile  he  continued  to  develop  and  ex- 
pound his  philosophy  in  writings  and  lectures.  In 
1805  he  became  professor  at  Erlangen,  but  owing  to 
the  unfortunate  issue  of  the  war  with  France  he  felt 
obliged  to  exile  himself  to  East  Prussia.  Returning 
to  Berlin  in  1807  he  there  delivered  his  celebrated 
"  Addresses  to  the  German  People,"  in  which  with 
splendid  effect  he  called  upon  his  fellow  country- 
men to  regenerate  and  revivify  their  fatherland.  On 
the  foundation  of  the  University  of  Berlin  F'ichte 
threw  himself  ardently  into  the  scheme  of  its  organi- 
zation, and  in  1811  he  was  appointed  Rector;  but  his 
imperious  and  insistent  temper  made  it  difficult  for 
others  to  work  with  him,  and  he  soon  resigned  the 
position.  He  continued  to  lecture  on  philosophic  and 
patriotic  themes  during  the  stormy  years  of  1812 
and  1813.  In  the  opening  days  of  1814  his  wife 
caught  a  fever  through  her  attendance  upon  the  sick 
and  wounded  who  filled  the  Berlin  hospital.  Fichte 
nursed  her  assiduously,  but  as  she  recovered  he  took 
the  disease  and  after  a  short  illness  died  January 
27,  1814.  On  his  tomb  was  written  the  appropriate 
and  beautiful  text :  "  Thy  teachers  shall  shine  as  the 
brightness  of  the  firmament,  and  they  that  turn  many 
to  righteousness  as  the  stars  that  shine  for  ever  and 


The  philosophical  system  of  Fichte  cannot  be  ade- 
quately apprehended  save  by  a  prolonged  and  careful 
study  not  only  of  his  own  works  but  of  the  Kantian 
philosophy  of  which  it  is  an  off-shoot.  More  perhaps 
than  any  other  speculative  theory  it  is  a  pure  and  self- 
consistent  idealism;  and  in  spite  of  the  sincere  and 
deep  conviction  of  its  creator,  that  it  suffices  for  the 


INTRODUCTION.  vii 

due  interpretation  of  reality,  it  will  always  seem  to 
many  thinkers  too  abstract  and  subjective  to  serve 
as  an  illumination  to  the  concrete  and  many-sided 
facts  of  actual  experience.  But  such  a  criticism  would 
hardly  apply  to  the  work  known  as  "  The  Vocation 
of  Man."  In  it  we  bave  much,  indeed,  of  Fichte's 
philosophy,  but  little  of  his  system-building.  His 
language,  moreover,  is  clear  and  untechnical,  while 
the  metaphysical  ideas  he  promulgates  are  animated 
by  the  strongly  personal  note  and  vivified  by  the  glow- 
ing intensity  of  passionate  moral  conviction  that  were 
so  characteristic  of  the  man  himself.  The  student 
familiar  with  the  history  of  philosophy  will  find  in 
this  little  book  much  that  throws  light  upon  other 
systems,  especially  on  those  of  Kant,  Hegel,  Schopen- 
hauer and  our  own  modern  "  pragmatists,"  but  earnest 
readers  even  if  unacquainted  with  the  speculations  of 
the  schools  may  also  gain  from  it  no  meagre  store  of 
noble  and  inspiring  thoughts. 


BIBLIOGRAPHY. 

Johann  Gottlieb  Fichte's  Sammtliche  Werke;  He- 
rausgegeben  von  J.  H.  Fichte  in  n  vols.,  Berlin, 

1845- 

Leben  und  Brief wechsel,  2  vols.,  Sulzbach,  1830, 
2nd  Edition  1862. 

Brief  wechsel  mit  Schelling,  Leipzig,  1856. 

Popular  writings  of  Fichte  with  Memoir,  by  Dr. 
William  Smith.  Latest  edition  London,  1889. 

The  Science  of  Knowledge,  Translated  by  A.  C. 
Kroeger,  London,  1889. 

The  most  important  commentators  on  Fichte's  phi- 
losophy are : 

Busse,  Fichte  und  seine  Beziehung  zur  Gegenwart, 
Halle,  1848. 

Lowe,  Die  Philosophic  Fichte's,  Stuttgart,  1862. 

Noack,  Fichte  nach  seinem  Leben,  Lehren,  und 
Wirken,  Leipzig,  1862. 

Kabitz,  Studien  zur  Entwicklungsgeschichte  der 
Fichteschen  Wissenschaftslehre,  Berlin,  1902. 

Leon,  Le  Philosophic  de  Fichte,  Paris,  1902. 

Adamson,  Fichte,  London,  1881.  Also  article  in 
Enc.  Brit.,  9th  Ed. 

Everett,  Fichte's  Science  of  Knowledge,  Chicago, 
1883. 

Thompson,  The  Unity  of  Fichte's  Doctrine  of 
Knowledge,  Boston,  1895. 

The  student  of  Fichte  will  also  find  useful  exposi- 
tions and  criticisms  of  his  system  in  most  histories 
of  philosophy,  especially  in  those  of  Kuno  Fischer. 
Erdmann,  Ueberweg  and  Windelband. 

ix 


PREFACE. 

WHATEVER  in  the  more  recent  Philosophy  is  useful 
beyond  the  limits  of  the  schools  will  form  the  con- 
tents of  this  work,  set  forth  in  that  order  in  which 
it  would  naturally  present  itself  to  unscientific 
thought.  The  more  profound  arguments  by  which 
subtle  objections  and  extravagances  of  over-refined 
minds  are  to  be  met,  whatever  is  but  the  foundation 
of  other  Positive  Science, — and  lastly,  whatever  be- 
longs to  Pedagogy  in  its  widest  sense,  that  is,  to  the 
deliberate  and  arbitrary  Education  of  the  Human 
Race, — shall  remain  beyond  the  limits  of  our  task. 
These  objections  are  not  made  by  the  natural  under- 
standing;— Positive  Science  it  leaves  to  Scholars  by 
profession;  and  the  Education  of  the  Human  Race, 
in  so  far  as  that  depends  upon  human  effort,  to  its 
appointed  Teachers  and  Statesmen. 

This  book  is  therefore  not  intended  for  philosophers 
by  profession,  who  will  find  nothing  in  it  that  has  not 
been  already  set  forth  in  other  writings  of  the  same 
author.  It  ought  to  be  intelligible  to  all  readers  who 
are  able  to  understand  a  book  at  all.  To  those  who 
wish  only  to  repeat,  in  somewhat  varied  order,  certain 
phrases  which  they  have  already  learned  by  rote,  and 
who  mistake  this  business  of  the  memory  for  under- 
standing, it  will  doubtless  be  found  unintelligible. 

It  ought  to  attract  and  animate  the  reader,  and  to 

xi 


xii  PREFACE. 

elevate  him  from  the  world  of  sense  into  a  region  of 
transcendental  thought; — at  least  the  author  is  con- 
scious that  he  has  not  entered  upon  his  task  without 
such  inspiration.  Often  indeed,  the  fire  with  which 
we  commence  an  undertaking  disappears  during  the 
toil  of  execution;  and  thus,  at  the  conclusion  of  a 
work,  we  are  in  danger  of  doing  ourselves  injustice 
upon  this  point.  In  short,  whether  the  author  has 
succeeded  in  attaining  his  object  or  not,  can  be  de- 
termined only  by  the  effect  which  the  work  shall 
produce  on  the  readers  to  whom  it  is  addressed,  and 
in  this  the  author  has  no  voice. 

I  must,  however,  remind  my  reader  that  the  "  I  " 
who  speaks  in  this  book  is  not  the  author  himself; 
but  it  is  his  earnest  wish  that  the  reader  should  him- 
self assume  this  character,  and  that  he  should  not 
rest  contented  with  a  mere  historical  apprehension  of 
what  is  here  said,  but  that  during  reading  he 
should  really  and  truly  hold  converse  with  himself, 
deliberate,  draw  conclusions  and  form  resolutions,  like 
his  imaginary  representative,  and  thus,  by  his  own  la- 
bour and  reflection,  develop  and  build  up  within  him- 
self that  mode  of  thought  the  mere  picture  of  which 
is  presented  to  him  in  the  book. 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 


Introduction  by  E.  Ritchie,  Ph.D  ........................     i 

Bibliography  .  .........................................    ix 

Preface  ...............................................    xi 

Book  I.   Doubt  .........................................     i 

Book  II.    Knowledge  ...................................  36 

Book  III.   Faith  ........................................  93 


BOOK  I. 

DOUBT. 

I  BELIEVE  that  I  am  now  acquainted  with  no  inconsid- 
erable part  of  the  world  that  surrounds  me,  and  I 
have  certainly  employed  sufficient  labour  and  care 
in  the  acquisition  of  this  knowledge.  I  have  put  faith 
only  in  the  concurrent  testimony  of  my  senses,  only 
in  repeated  and  unvarying  experience; — what  I  have 
beheld,  I  have  touched — what  I  have  touched,  I  have 
analyzed ; — I  have  repeated  my  observations  again  and 
again;  I  have  compared  the  various  phenomena  with 
each  other;  and  only  when  I  could  understand  their 
mutual  connexion,  when  I  could  explain  and  deduce 
the  one  from  the  other,  when  I  could  calculate  the 
result  beforehand,  and  the  observation  of  the  result 
had  proved  the  accuracy  of  my  calculations,  have  I 
been  satisfied.  Therefore  I  am  now  as  well  assured 
of  the  accuracy  of  this  part  of  my  knowledge  as  of 
my  own  existence;  I  walk  with  a  firm  step  in  these 
understood  spheres  of  my  world,  and  do  actually 
every  moment  venture  welfare  and  life  itself  on  the 
certainty  of  my  convictions. 

But — what  am  I  myself,  and  what  is  my  vocation? 

Superfluous  question!  It  is  long  since  I  have  been 
completely  instructed  upon  these  points,  and  it  would 
take  much  time  to  repeat  all  that  I  have  learned, 
learned,  and  believed  concerning  them. 


2  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

And  in  what  way  then  have  I  attained  this  knowledge, 
which  I  have  this  dim  remembrance  of  acquir- 
ing? Have  I,  impelled  by  a  burning  desire  of  knowl- 
edge, toiled  on  through  uncertainty,  doubt  and  con- 
tradiction?— have  I,  when  any  belief  was  presented 
to  me,  withheld  my  assent  until  I  had  examined  and 
reexamined,  sifted  and  compared  it, — until  an  inward 
voice  proclaimed  to  me,  irresistibly  and  without  the 
possibility  of  doubt, — "  Thus  it  is — thus  only — as 
surely  as  thou  livest  and  art!" — No!  I  remember  no 
such  state  of  mind.  Those  instructions  were  bestowed 
on  me  before  I  sought  them,  the  answers  were  given 
before  I  had  put  the  questions.  I  heard,  for  I  could 
not  avoid  doing  so,  and  what  was  taught  me  remained 
in  my  memory  just  as  chance  had  disposed  it; — with- 
out examination  and  without  interest  I  allowed  every- 
thing to  take  its  place  in  my  mind. 

How  then  could  I  persuade  myself  that  I  possessed 
any  real  knowledge  upon  these  matters?  If  I  know 
that  only  of  which  I  am  convinced,  which  I  have  my- 
self discovered,  myself  experienced,  then  I  cannot 
truly  say  that  I  possess  even  the  slightest  knowledge 
of  my  vocation ; — I  know  only  what  others  assert  they 
know  about  it,  and  all  that  I  am  really  sure  of  is, — 
that  I  have  heard  this  or  that  said  upon  the  subject. 

Thus,  while  I  have  inquired  for  myself,  with  the 
most  anxious  care,  into  comparatively  trivial  matters, 
I  have  relied  wholly  on  the  care  and  fidelity  of  others 
in  things  of  the  weightiest  importance.  I  have  at- 
tributed to  others  an  interest  in  the  highest  affairs  of 
humanity,  an  earnestness  and  an  exactitude,  which  I 


BOOK  I.    DOUBT.  3 

by  no  means  discovered  in  myself.     I  have  esteemed 
them  indescribably  higher  than  myself. 

Whatever  truth  they  really  possess,  whence  can 
they  have  obtained  it  but  through  their  own  reflec- 
tion? And  why  may  not  I,  by  means  of  the  same 
reflection,  discover  the  like  truth  for  myself,  since 
I  too  have  a  being  as  well  as  they  ?  How  much  have 
I  hitherto  undervalued  and  slighted  myself! 

It  shall  be  no  longer  thus.  From  this  moment 
I  will  enter  on  my  rights  and  assume  the  dignity 
that  belongs  to  me.  Let  all  foreign  aids  be  cast 
aside!  I  will  examine  for  myself.  If  any  secret 
wishes  concerning  the  result  of  my  inquiries,  any 
partial  leaning  towards  certain  conclusions,  stir  within 
me,  I  forget  and  renounce  them;  and  I  will  accord 
them  no  influence  over  the  direction  of  my  thoughts. 
I  will  perform  my  task  with  firmness  and  integrity; 
— I  will  honestly  accept  the  result  whatever  it  may  be. 
What  I  find  to  be  truth,  let  it  sound  as  it  may,  shall 
be  welcome  to  me.  I  will  know.  With  the  same 
certainty  with  which  I  am  assured  that  this  ground 
will  support  me  when  I  tread  on  it,  that  this  fire  will 
burn  me  if  I  approach  too  near  it,  will  I  know  what 
I  am,  and  what  I  shall  be.  And  should  it  prove 
impossible  for  me  to  know  this,  then  I  will  know  this 
much  at  least,  that  I  cannot  know  it.  Even  to  this 
conclusion  of  my  inquiry  will  I  submit,  should  it  ap- 
prove itself  to  me  as  the  truth.  I  hasten  to  the  ful- 
filment of  my  task. 


THE  VOCATION  OP  MAN. 


I  seize  on  Nature  in  her  rapid  and  unresting 
flight,  detain  her  for  an  instant,  hold  the  present  mo- 
ment steadily  in  view,  and  reflect — upon  this  Nature 
by  means  of  which  my  thinking  powers  have  hither- 
to been  developed  and  trained  to  those  researches  that 
belong  to  her  domain. 

I  am  surrounded  by  objects  which  I  am  compelled 
to  regard  as  separate,  independent,  self-subsisting 
wholes.  I  behold  plants,  trees,  animals.  I  ascribe 
•to  each  individual  certain  properties  and  attributes  by 
which  I  distinguish  it  from  others ;  to  this  plant,  such 
a  form;  to  another,  another;  to  this  tree,  leaves  of 
such  a  shape;  to  another,  others  differing  from  them. 

Every  object  has  its  appointed  number  of  attributes, 
neither  more  nor  less.  To  every  question,  whether  it 
is  this  or  that,  there  is,  for  any  one  who  is  thoroughly 
acquainted  with  it,  a  decisive  Yes  possible,  or  a  de- 
cisive No, — so  that  there  is  an  end  of  all  doubt  or 
hesitation  on  the  subject.  Everything  that  exists  is 
something,  or  it  is  not  this  something ; — is  coloured,  or 
is  not  coloured ; — has  a  certain  colour,  or  has  it  not ; — 
may  be  tasted,  or  may  not; — is  tangible,  or  is  not; — 
and  so  on,  ad  infinitum. 

Every  object  possesses  each  of  these  attributes  in  a 
definite  degree.  Let  a  measure  be  given  for  any 
particular  attribute  which  is  capable  of  being  applied 
to  the  object;  then  we  may  discover  the  exact  extent 
of  that  attribute,  which  it  neither  exceeds  nor  falls 
short  of.  I  measure  the  height  of  this  tree;  it  is 
defined,  and  it  is  not  a  single  line  higher  or  lower 


BOOK  I.    DOUBT.  5 

than  it  is.  I  consider  the  green  of  its  leaves;  it  is 
a  definite  green,  not  the  smallest  shade  darker  or 
lighter,  fresher  or  more  faded  than  it  is;  although  I 
may  have  neither  measure  nor  expression  for  these 
qualities.  I  turn  my  eye  to  this  plant;  it  is  at  a  defi- 
nite stage  of  growth  between  its  budding  and  its  ma- 
turity, not  in  the  smallest  degree  nearer  or  more  re- 
mote from  either  than  it  is.  Everything  that  exists 
is  determined  throughout;  it  is  what  it  is,  and  nothing 
else. 

Not  that  I  am  unable  to  conceive  of  an  object  as 
floating  unattached  between  opposite  determinations. 
I  do  certainly  conceive  of  indefinite  objects ;  for  more 
than  half  of  my  thoughts  consist  of  such  conceptions. 
I  think  of  a  tree  in  general.  Has  this  tree  fruit  or 
not,  leaves  or  not;  if  it  has,  what  is  their  number? — 
to  what  order  of  trees  does  it  belong? — how  large  is 
it? — and  so  on.  All  these  questions  remain  unan- 
swered, and  my  thought  is  undetermined  in  these  re- 
spects; for  I  did  not  propose  to  myself  the  thought 
of  any  particular  tree,  but  of  a  tree  generally.  But 
I  deny  actual  existence  to  such  a  tree  in  thus  leaving 
it  undefined.  Everything  that  actually  exists  has  its 
determinate  number  of  all  the  possible  attributes  of 
actual  existence,  and  each  of  these  in  a  determinate 
measure,  as  surely  as  it  actually  exists,  although  I 
may  admit  my  inability  thoroughly  to  exhaust  all  the 
properties  of  any  one  object,  or  to  apply  to  them  any 
standard  of  measurement. 


"But  Nature  pursues  her  course  of  ceaseless  change, 
and  while  I  yet  speak  of  the  moment  which  I  sought 
to  detain  before  me,  it  is  gone,  and  all  is  changed, 


6  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

and  in  like  manner,  before  I  had  fixed  my  observation 
upon  it,  all  was  otherwise.  It  had  not  always  been 
as  it  was  when  I  observed  it ; — it  had  become  so. 

Why  then,  and  from  what  cause,  had  it  become  so? 
Why  had  Nature,  amid  the  infinite  variety  of  possible 
forms,  assumed  in  this  moment  precisely  these  and 
no  others? 

For  this  reason,  that  they  were  preceded  by  those 
precisely  which  did  precede  them,  and  by  no  others, 
and  because  the  present  could  arise  out  of  those  and 
out  of  no  other  possible  conditions.  Had  anything 
in  the  preceding  moment  been  in  the  smallest  degree 
different  from  what  it  was,  then  in  the  present  mo- 
ment something  would  have  been  different  from  what 
it  is.  And  from  what  cause  were  all  things  in  that 
preceding  moment  precisely  such  as  they  were?  For 
this  reason,  that  in  the  moment  preceding  that, 
they  were  such  as  they  were  then.  And  this 
moment  again  was  dependent  on  its  predecessor, 
and  that  on  another,  and  so  on  without  limit. 
In  like  manner  will  Nature,  in  the  succeeding  moment, 
be  necessarily  determined  to  the  particular  forms 
which  it  will  then  assume — for  this  reason,  that  in  the 
present  moment  it  is  determined  exactly  as  it  is;  and 
were  anything  in  the  present  moment  in  the  smallest 
degree  different  from  what  it  is,  then  in  the  succeed- 
ing moment  somjething  would  necessarily  be  different 
from  what  it  will  be.  And  in  the  moment  following 
that,  all  things  will  be  precisely  as  they  will  be,  be- 
cause in  the  immediately  previous  moment  they  will 
be  as  they  will  be;  and  so  will  its  successor  proceed 
forth  from  it,  and  another  from  that,  and  so  on 
forever. 

Nature  proceeds  throughout  the  whole  infinite  series 


BOOK  /.    DOUBT.  7 

of  her  possible  determinations  without  outward  in- 
centive; and  the  succession  of  these  changes  is  not 
arbitrary,  but  follows  strict  and  unalterable  laws. 
Whatever  exists  in  Nature,  necessarily  exists  as  it 
does  exist,  and  it  is  absolutely  impossible  that  it 
should  be  otherwise.  I  enter  within  an  unbroken  chain 
of  phenomena,  in  which  every  link  is  determined  by 
that  which  has  preceded  it,  and  in  its  turn  deter- 
mines the  next;  so  that,  were  I  able  to  trace  back- 
ward the  causes  through  which  alone  any  given  mo- 
ment could  have  come  into  actual  existence,  and  to 
follow  out  the  consequences  which  must  necessarily 
flow  from  it,  I  should  then  be  able,  at  that  moment, 
and  by  means  of  thought  alone,  to  discover  all  possi- 
ble conditions  of  the  universe,  both  past  and  future; 
— past,  by  interpreting  the  given  moment;  future,  by 
foreseeing  its  results.  Every  part  contains  the  whole, 
for  only  through  the  whole  is  each  part  what  it  is, 
but  through  the  whole  it  is  necessarily  what  it  is. 


What  is  it  then  which  I  have  thus  arrived  at?  If  I 
review  my  positions  as  a  while,  I  find  their  sub- 
stance to  be  this: — that  in  every  stage  of  progress  an 
antecedent  is  necessarily  supposed,  from  which  and 
through  which  alone  the  present  has  arisen;  in  every 
condition  a  previous  condition,  in  every  existence,  an- 
other existence ;  and  that  from  nothing,  nothing  what- 
ever can  proceed. 

Let  me  pause  here  a  little,  and  develop  whatever 
is  contained  in  this  principle,  until  it  becomes  perfectly 
clear  to  me!  For  it  may  be  that  on  my  clear  insight 
into  this  point  may  depend  the  success  of  my  whole 
future  inquiry. 


8  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

Why,  and  from  what  cause,  I  had  asked,  are  the 
determinate  forms  of  objects  precisely  such  as  they 
are  at  this  moment.  I  assumed  without  farther 
proof,  and  without  the  slightest  inquiry,  as  an  abso- 
lute, immediate,  certain  and  unalterable  truth,  that 
they  had  a  cause; — that  not  through  themselves,  but 
through  something  which  lay  beyond  them,  they  had 
attained  existence  and  reality.  I  found  their  exist- 
ence insufficient  to  account  for  itself,  and  I  was  com- 
pelled to  assume  another  existence  beyond  them,  as  a 
necessary  condition  of  theirs.  But  why  did  I  find  the 
existence  of  these  qualities  and  determinate  forms  in- 
sufficient for  itself?  why  did  I  find  it  to  be  an  in- 
complete existence?  What  was  there  in  it  which  be- 
trayed to  me  its  insufficiency?  This,  without  doubt: 
— that,  in  the  first  place,  these  qualities  do  not  exist 
in  and  for  themselves, — they  are  qualities  of  some- 
thing else,  attributes  of  a  substance,  forms  of  some- 
thing formed;  and  the  supposition  of  such  a  sub- 
stance, of  a  something  to  support  these  attributes, — 
of  a  substratum  for  them,  to  use  the  phraseology  of 
the  Schools, — is  a  necessary  condition  of  the  conceiv- 
ableness  of  such  qualities.  Further,  before  I  can  at- 
tribute a  definite  quality  to  such  a  substratum,  I  must 
suppose  for  it  a  condition  of  repose,  and  of  cessation 
from  change, — a  pause  in  its  existence.  Were  I  to 
regard  it  as  in  a  state  of  transition,  then  there  could 
be  no  definite  determination,  but  merely  an  endless 
series  of  charges  from  one  state  to  another.  The 
state  of  determination  in  a  thing  is  thus  a  state  and 
expression  of  mere  passivity;  and  a  state  of  mere 
passivity  is  in  itself  an  incomplete  existence.  Such 
passivity  itself  demands  an  activity  to  which  it  may 
be  referred,  by  which  it  can  be  explained,  and  through 


BOOK  I.    DOUBT.  g 

which  it  first  becomes  conceivable ; — or,  as  it  is  usually 
expressed, — which  contains  within  it  the  ground  of 
this  passivity. 

What  I  found  myself  compelled  to  suppose  was 
thus  by  no  means  that  the  various  and  successive 
determinations  of  Nature  themselves  produce  each 
other, — that  the  present  determination  annihilates  it- 
self, and,  in  the  next  moment,  when  it  no  longer  ex- 
ists, produces  another,  which  is  different  from  itself, 
and  not  contained  in  it,  to  fill  its  place : — this  is  wholly 
inconceivable.  The  mere  determination  produces 
neither  itself  nor  anything  else. 

What  I  found  myself  compelled  to  assume  in  order 
to  account  for  the  gradual  origin  and  the  changes 
of  those  determinations,  was  an  active  power,  peculiar 
to  the  object,  and  constituting  its  essential  nature. 

And  how,  then,  do  I  conceive  of  this  power  ? — what 
is  its  nature,  and  the  modes  of  its  manifestation? 
This  only, — that  under  these  definite  conditions  it 
produces,  by  its  own  energy  and  for  its  own  sake,  this 
definite  effect  and  no  other ; — and  that  it  produces  this 
certainly  and  infallibly. 

This  principle  of  activity,  of  independent  and  spon- 
taneous development,  dwells  in  itself  alone,  and  in 
nothing  beyond  itself,  as  surely  as  it  is  power — power 
which  is  not  impelled  or  set  in  motion,  but  which 
sets  itself  in  motion.  The  cause  of  its  having  devel- 
oped itself  precisely  in  this  manner  and  no  other,  lies 
partly  in  itself — because  it  is  this  particular  power  and 
no  other ;  and  partly  in  the  circumstances  under  which 
it  developes  itself.  Both  these, — the  inward  deter- 
mination of  a  power  by  itself,  and  its  outward  de- 
termination by  circumstances, — must  be  united  in  or- 
der to  produce  a  change.  The  latter,  the  circum- 


10  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

stances,  the  passive  condition  of  things, — can  of  itself 
produce  no  change,  for  it  has  within  it  the  opposite 
of  all  change, — inert  existence.  The  former,  the 
power, — is  wholly  determined,  for  only  on  this  con- 
dition is  conceivable;  but  its  determination  is  com- 
pleted only  through  the  circumstances  under  which  it 
is  developed.  I  can  conceive  of  a  power,  it  can  have 
an  existence  for  me,  only  in  so  far  as  I  can  perceive 
an  effect  proceeding  from  it;  an  inactive  power, — 
which  should  yet  be  a  power,  and  not  an  inert  thing, 
— is  wholly  inconceivable.  Every  effect,  however,  is 
determined;  and — since  the  effect  is  but  the  expres- 
sion, but  another  mode  of  the  activity  itself, — the 
active  power  is  determined  in  its  activity;  and  the 
ground  of  this  determination  lies  partly  in  itself,  be- 
cause it  cannot  otherwise  be  conceived  of  as  a  particu- 
lar and  definite  power; — partly  out  of  itself,  because 
its  own  determination  can  be  conceived  of  only  as 
conditioned  by  something  else. 

A  flower  has  sprung  out  of  the  earth,  and  I  infer 
from  thence  a  formative  power  in  Nature.  Such  a 
formative  power  exists  for  me  only  so  far  as  this 
flower  and  others,  plants  generally,  and  animals  ex- 
ist for  me: — I  can  describe  this  power  only  through 
its  effects,  and  it  is  to  me  no  more  than  the  produc- 
ing cause  of  such  effects, — the  generative  principle  of 
flowers,  plants,  animals,  and  organic  forms  in  general. 
I  will  go  further,  and  maintain  that  a  flower,  and  this 
particular  flower,  could  arise  in  this  place  only  in  so 
far  as  all  other  circumstances  united  to  make  it  pos- 
sible. But  by  the  union  of  all  these  circumstances 
for  its  possibility,  the  actual  existence  of  the  flower  is 
by  no  means  explained;  and  for  this  I  am  still  com- 
pelled to  assume  a  special,  spontaneous,  and  original 


BOOK  I.    DOUBT.  il 

power  in  Nature,  and  indeed  a  -flower- producing 
power;  for  another  power  of  Nature  might,  under 
the  same  circumstances,  have  produced  something  en- 
tirely different. — I  have  thus  attained  to  the  follow- 
ing view  of  the  Universe. 

When  I  contemplate  all  things  as  one  whole,  one 
Nature,  there  is  but  one  power, — when  I  regard  them 
as  separate  existences,  there  are  many  powers — which 
develop  themselves  according  to  their  inward  laws, 
and  pass  through  all  the  possible  forms  of  which  they 
are  capable;  and  all  objects  in  Nature  are  but  those 
powers  under  certain  determinate  forms.  The  mani- 
festations of  each  individual  power  of  Nature  are  de- 
termined, become  what  they  are,  partly  by  its  own 
essential  character,  and  partly  through  the  manifesta- 
tions of  all  the  other  powers  of  Nature  with  which  it 
is  connected;  but  it  is  connected  with  them!  all — for 
Nature  is  one  connected  whole.  They  are,  there- 
fore, unalterably  determined; — while  its  essential 
character  remains  what  it  is,  and  while  it  continues 
to  manifest  itself  under  these  particular  circumstances, 
its  manifestations  must  necessarily  be  what  they  are; 
— and  it  is  absolutely  impossible  that  they  should  be 
in  the  smallest  degree  different  from  what  they  are. 

In  every  moment  of  her  duration  Nature  is  one 
connected  whole;  in  every  moment  each  individual 
part  must  be  what  it  is,  because  all  the  others  are 
what  they  are;  and  you  could  not  remove  a  single 
grain  of  sand  from  its  place,  without  thereby,  although 
perhaps  imperceptibly  to  you,  changing  something 
throughout  all  parts  of  the  immeasurable  whole.  But 
every  moment  of  this  duration  is  determined  by  all 
past  moments,  and  will  determine  all  future  moments ; 
and  you  cannot  conceive  even  the  position  of  a  grain 


12  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

of  sand  other  than  it  is  in  the  Present,  without  being 
compelled  to  conceive  the  whole  indefinite  Past  to  have 
been  other  than  what  it  has  been,  and  the  whole  indefi- 
nite Future  other  than  what  it  will  be.  Make  the  ex- 
periment, for  instance,  with  this  grain  of  quick-sand. 
Suppose  it  to  lie  some  few  paces  further  inland  than 
it  does : — then  must  the  storm-wind  that  drove  it  in 
from  the  sea  have  been  stronger  than  it  actually  was ; 
— then  must  the  preceding  state  of  the  weather,  by 
which  this  wind  was  occasioned  and  its  degree  of 
strength  determined,  have  been  different  from  what 
it  actually  was;  and  the  previous  state  by  which  this 
particular  weather  was  determined, — and  so  on;  and 
thus  you  have,  without  stay  or  limit,  a  wholly  differ- 
ent temperature  of  the  air  from  that  which  really  ex- 
isted, and  a  different  constitution  of  the  bodies  which 
possess  an  influence  over  this  temperature,  and  over 
which,  on  the  other  hand,  it  exercises  such  an  influ- 
ence. On  the  fruitfulness  or  unfruitfulness  of  coun- 
tries, and  through  that,  or  even  directly,  on  the  dura- 
tion of  human  life, — this  temperature  exercises  a  most 
decided  influence.  How  can  you  know, — since  it  is 
not  permitted  us  to  penetrate  the  arcana  of  Nature, 
and  it  is  therefore  allowable  to  speak  of  possibilities, 
— how  can  you  know,  that  in  such  a  state  of  weather 
as  may  have  been  necessary  to  carry  this  grain  of  sand 
a  few  paces  further  inland,  some  one  of  your  fore- 
fathers might  not  have  perished  from  hunger,  or  cold, 
or  heat,  before  begetting  that  son  from  whom  you 
are  descended ;  and  that  thus  you  might  never  have 
been  at  all,  and  all  that  you  have  ever  done,  and  all 
that  you  ever  hope  to  do  in  this  world,  must  have  been 
obstructed  in  order  that  a  grain  of  sand  might  lie  in 
a  different  place? 


BOOK.  7.    DOUBT.  13 

I  myself,  with  all  that  I  call  mine,  am  a  link  in  this 
chain  of  the  rigid  necessity  of  Nature.  There  was  a 
time — so  others  tell  me  who  were  then  alive,  and  I 
am  compelled  by  reasoning  to  admit  such  a  time  of 
which  I  have  no  immediate  consciousness, — there  was 
a  time  in  which  I  was  not,  and  a  moment  in  which  I 
began  to  be.  I  then  only  existed  for  others, — not  yet 
for  myself.  Since  then,  my  self,  my  self-consciousness, 
has  gradually  unfolded  itself,  and  I  have  discovered  in 
myself  certain  capacities  and  faculties,  wants  and  nat- 
ural desires.  I  am  a  definite  creature,  which  came 
into  being  at  a  certain  time. 

I  have  not  come  into  being  by  my  own  power.  It 
would  be  the  highest  absurdity  to  suppose  that  I  was 
before  I  came  into  existence,  in  order  to' bring  myself 
into  existence.  I  have,  then,  been  called  into  being 
by  another  power  beyond  myself.  And  by  what  power 
but  the  universal  power  of  Nature,  since  I  too  am  a 
part  of  Nature?  The  time  at  which  my  existence 
began,  and  the  attributes  with  which  I  came  into  being, 
were  determined  by  this  universal  power  of  Nature; 
and  all  the  forms  under  which  these  inborn  attributes 
have  since  manifested  themselves,  and  will  manifest 
themselves  as  long  as  I  have  a  being,  are  determined 
by  the  same  power.  It  was  impossible  that,  instead 
of  me,  another  should  have  come  into  existence; — it 
is  impossible  that  this  being,  once  here,  should  at  any 
moment  of  its  existence  be  other  than  what  it  is  and 
will  be. 

That  my  successive  states  of  being  have  been  ac- 
companied by  consciousness,  and  that  some  of  them, 
such  as  thoughts,  resolutions,  and  the  like,  appear  to 
be  nothing  but  varied  modes  of  consciousness,  need 
not  perplex  my  reasonings.  It  is  the  natural  consti- 


14  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

tution  of  the  plant  to  develop  itself,  of  the  animal 
to  move,  of  man  to  think, — all  after  fixed  laws.  Why 
should  I  hesitate  to  acknowledge  the  last  as  the  mani- 
festation of  an  original  power  of  Nature,  as  well  as 
the  first  and  second?  Nothing  could  hinder  me  from 
doing  so  but  mere  wonder;  thought  being  assuredly 
a  far  higher  and  more  subtle  operation  of  Nature  than 
the  formation  of  a  plant  or  the  proper  motion  of  an 
animal.  But  how  can  I  accord  to  such  a  feeling  any 
influence  whatever  upon  the  calm  conclusions  of  rea- 
son? I  cannot  indeed  explain  how  the  power  of  Na- 
ture can  produce  thought;  but  can  I  better  explain 
its  operation  in  the  formation  of  a  plant  or  in  the 
motion  of  an  animal?  To  attempt  to  deduce  thought 
from  any  mere  combination  of  matter  is  a  perversity 
into  which  I  shall  not  fall;  but  can  I  then  explain 
from  it  even  the  formation  of  the  simplest  moss? 
Those  original  powers  of  Nature  cannot  be  explained, 
for  it  is  only  by  them  that  we  can  explain  everything 
which  is  susceptible  of  explanation.  Thought  exists, 
— its  existence  is  absolute  and  independent  just  as 
the  formative  power  of  Nature  exists  absolutely  and 
independently.  It  is  in  Nature ;  for  the  thinking  being 
arises  and  develops  himself  according  to  the  laws  of 
Nature;  therefore  thought  exists  through  Nature. 
There  is  in  Nature  an  original  thinking-power,  as  there 
is  an  original  formative-power. 

This  original  thinking-power  of  the  Universe  goes 
forth  and  develops  itself  in  all  possible  modes  of  which 
it  is  capable,  as  the  other  original  forces  of  Nature 
go  forth  and  assume  all  forms  possible  to  them..  I, 
like  the  plant,  am  a  particular  mode  or  manifestation  of 
the  formative-power ;  like  the  animal,  a  particular  mode 
or  manifestation  of  the  power  of  motion;  and  besides 


BOOK  I.    DOUBT.  15 

these  I  am  also  a  particular  mode  or  manifestation 
of  the  thinking-power ;  and  the  union  of  these  three 
original  powers  into  one, — into  one  harmonious  de- 
velopment,— is  the  distinguishing  characteristic  of  my 
species,  as  it  is  the  distinguishing  characteristic  of  the 
plant  species  to  be  merely  a  mode  or  manifestation  of 
the  formative-power. 

Figure,  motion,  thought,  in  me,  are  not  dependent 
on  each  other  and  consequent  on  each  other; — so  that 
I  think  and  thereby  conceive  of  the  forms  and  mo- 
tions that  surround  me  in  such  or  such  a  manner  be- 
cause they  are  so,  or  on  the  other  hand,  that  they  are 
so  because  I  so  conceive  of  them, — but  they  are  all 
simultaneous  and  harmonious  developments  of  one  and 
the  same  power,  the  manifestation  of  which  necessarily 
assumes  the  form  of  a  complete  creature  of  my 
species,  and  which  may  thus  be  called  the  man-form- 
ing power.  A  thought  arises  within  me  absolutely, 
without  dependence  on  anything  else;  the  correspond- 
ing form  likewise  arises  absolutely,  and  also  the  mo- 
tion which  corresponds  to  both.  I  am  not  what  I  am, 
because  I  think  so,  or  will  so ;  nor  do  I  think  and  will  it, 
because  I  am  so;  but  I  am,  and  I  think,  both  abso- 
lutely;— both  harmonize  with  each  other  by  virtue  of 
a  higher  power. 

As  surely  as  those  original  powers  of  Nature  exist 
for  themselves,  and  have  their  own  internal  laws  and 
purposes,  so  surely  must  their  outward  manifestations, 
if  they  are  left  to  themselves  and  not  suppressed  by 
any  foreign  force,  endure  for  a  certain  period  of  time, 
and  describe  a  certain  circle  of  change.  That  which 
disappears  even  at  the  moment  of  its  production  is 
assuredly  not  the  manifestation  of  one  primordial 
power,  but  only  a  consequence  of  the  combined  opera- 


15  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

tion  of  various  powers.  The  plant,  a  particular  mode 
or  manifestation  of  the  formative-power  of  Nature, 
when  left  to  itself,  proceeds  from  the  first  germina- 
tion to  the  ripening  of  the  seed.  Man,  a  particular 
mode  or  manifestation  of  all  the  powers  of  Nature 
in  their  union,  when  left  to  himself,  proceeds  from 
birth  to  death  in  old  age.  Hence,  the  duration  of  the 
life  of  plants  and  of  men,  and  the  varied  modes  of 
this  life. 

This  form,  this  proper  motion,  this  thought,  in  har- 
mony with  each  other, — this  duration  of  all  these  es- 
sential qualities,  amidst  many  non-essential  changes, 
belong  to  me  in  so  far  as  I  am  a  being  of  my  species. 
But  the  man-forming  power  of  Nature  had  already  dis- 
played itself  before  I  existed,  under  a  multitude  of 
outward  conditions  and  circumstances.  Such  out- 
ward circumstances  have  determined  the  particular 
manner  of  its  present  activity,  which  has  resulted  in 
the  production  of  precisely  such  an  individual  of  my 
species  as  I  am.  The  same  circumstances  can  never 
return,  unless  the  whole  course  of  Nature  should  re- 
peat itself,  and  two  Natures  arise  instead  of  one ;  hence 
the  same  individuals,  who  have  once  existed,  can  never 
again  come  into  actual  being.  Further,  the  man-form- 
ing power  of  Nature  manifests  itself,  during  the  same 
time  in  which  I  exist,  under  all  conditions  and  circum- 
stances possible  in  that  time.  But  no  combination  of 
such  circumstances  can  perfectly  resemble  those  through 
which  I  came  into  existence,  unless  the  universe  could 
divide  itself  into  two  perfectly  similar  but  independent 
worlds.  It  is  impossible  that  two  perfectly  similar 
individuals  can  come  into  actual  existence  at  the  same 
time.  It  is  thus  determined  what  I,  this  definite  per- 
son, must  be ;  and  the  general  law  by  which  I  am  what 


BOOK  I.    DOUBT.  i? 

I  am  is  discovered.  I  am  that  which  the  man-forming 
power  of  Nature — having  been  what  it  was,  being  what 
it  is,  and  standing  in  this  particular  relation  to  the 
other  opposing  powers  of  Nature — could  become;  and 
— there  being  no  ground  of  limitation  within  itself, — 
since  it  could  become,  necessarily  must  become.  I  am 
that  which  I  am,  because  in  this  particular  position  of 
the  great  system  of  Nature,  only  such  a  person,  and 
absolutely  no  other,  was  possible; — and  a  spirit  who 
could  look  through  the  innermost  secrets  of  Nature, 
would,  from  knowing  one  single  man,  be  able  dis- 
tinctly to  declare  what  men  had  formerly  existed,  and 
what  men  would  exist  at  any  future  moment ; — in  one 
individual  he  would  discern  all  actual  and  possible 
individuals.  It  is  this,  my  inter-connexion  with  the 
whole  system  of  Nature,  which  determines  what  I 
have  been,  what  I  am,  and  what  I  shall  be;  and  the 
same  spirit  would  be  able,  from  any  possible  moment 
of  my  existence,  to  discover  infallibly  what  I  had  pre- 
viously been,  and  what  I  was  afterwards  to  become. 
All  that,  at  any  time,  I  am  and  shall  be,  I  am  and 
shall  be  of  absolute  necessity ;  and  it  is  impossible  that 
I  should  be  anything  else. 


I  am,  indeed,  conscious  of  myself  as  an  independent, 
and,  in  many  occurrences  of  my  life,  a  free  being ;  but 
this  consciousness  may  easily  be  explained  on  the 
principles  already  laid  down,  and  may  be  thoroughly 
reconciled  with  the  conclusions  which  have  been 
drawn.  My  immediate  consciousness,  my  proper  per- 
ception, cannot  go  beyond  myself  and  the  modes  of 
my  own  being; — I  have  immediate  knowledge  of  my- 
self alone:  whatever  I  may  know  more  than  this,  I 


i8  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

know  only  by  inference,  in  the  same  way  in  which  I 
have  inferred  the  existence  of  original  powers  of  Na- 
ture, which  yet  do  not  lie  within  the  circle  of  my 
perceptions.  I  myself  however, — that  which  1  call  me 
— my  personality, — am  not  the  man-forming  power  of 
Nature,  but  only  one  of  its  manifestations ;  and  it  is 
only  of  this  manifestation  that  I  am  conscious,  as  my- 
self, not  of  that  power  whose  existence  I  only  infer 
from  the  necessity  of  explaining  my  own.  This  mani- 
festation, however,  in  its  true  nature,  is  really  the 
product  of  an  original  and  independent  power,  and 
must  appear  as  such  in  consciousness.  On  this 
account  I  recognise  myself  generally  as  an  inde- 
pendent being.  For  this  reason  I  appear  to  myself 
as  free  in  certain  occurrences  of  my  life,  when  these 
occurrences  are  the  manifestations  of  the  independent 
power  which  falls  to  my  share  as  an  individual ;  (is 
restrained  and  limited,  when,  by  any  combination  of 
outward  circumstances,  which  may  arise  in  time,  but 
do  not  lie  within  the  original  limitations  of  my  per- 
sonality, I  cannot  do  what  my  individual  power  would 
naturally,  if  unobstructed,  be  capable  of  doing;  as 
compelled,  when  this  individual  power,  by  the  supe- 
riority of  antagonistic  powers,  is  constrained  to  mani- 
fest itself  even  in  opposition  to  the  laws  of  its  own 
nature. 

Bestow  consciousness  on  a  tree,  and  let  it  grow, 
spread  out  its  branches,  and  bring  forth  leaves  and 
buds,  blossoms  and  fruits,  after  its  kind,  without  hin- 
drance or  obstruction: — it  will  perceive  no  limitation 
to  its  existence  in  being  only  a  tree,  a  tree  of  this  par- 
ticular species,  and  this  particular  individual  of  the 
species ;  it  will  feel  itself  perfectly  free,  because,  in  ail 
those  manifestations,  it  will  do  nothing  but  what  its 


BOOK  I.    DOUBT.  ig 

nature  requires ;  and  it  will  desire  to  do  nothing  else, 
because  it  can  only  desire  what  that  nature  requires. 
But  let  its  growth  be  hindered  by  unfavourable 
weather,  want  of  nourishment,  or  other  causes,  and  it 
will  feel  itself  limited  and  restrained,  because  an  im- 
pulse which  actually  belongs  to  its  nature  is  not  satis- 
fied. Bind  its  free  waving  boughs  to  a  wall,  force 
foreign  branches  on  it  by  ingrafting,  and  it  will  feel 
itself  compelled  to  one  course  of  action;  its  branches 
will  grow,  but  not  in  the  direction  they  would  have 
taken  if  left  to  themselves;  it  will  produce  fruits,  but 
not  those  which  belong  to  its  original  nature.  In  im- 
mediate consciousness,  I  appear  to  myself  as  free;  by 
reflection  on  the  whole  of  Nature,  I  discover  that  free- 
dom is  absolutely  impossible ;  the  former  must  be  sub- 
ordinate to  the  latter,  for  it  can  be  explained  only  by 
means  of  it. 

What  high  satisfaction  is  attained  through  the  sys- 
tem which  my  understanding  has  thus  built  up !  What 
order,  what  firm  connexion,  what  comprehensive  su- 
pervision does  it  introduce  into  the  whole  fabric  of 
my  knowledge !  Consciousness  is  here  no  longer  that 
stranger  in  Nature,  whose  connexion  with  existence 
is  so  incomprehensible ;  it  is  native  to  it,  and  indeed  one 
of  its  necessary  manifestations.  Nature  rises  gradu- 
ally in  the  fixed  series  of  her  productions.  In  rude 
matter  she  is  a  simple  existence;  in  organized  matter 
she  returns  within  herself  to  internal  activity;  in  the 
plant,  to  produce  form;  in  the  animal,  motion; — in 
man,  as  her  highest  masterpiece,  she  turns  inward  that 
she  may  perceive  and  contemplate  herself, — in  him  she, 
as  it  were,  doubles  herself,  and,  from  being  mere  ex- 
istence, becomes  existence  and  consciousness  in  one. 


so  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

How  I  am  and  must  be  conscious  of  my  own  being 
and  of  its  determinations,  is,  in  this,  connexion,  easily 
understood.  My  being  and  my  knowledge  have  one 
common  foundation, — my  own  nature.  The  being 
within  me,  even  because  it  is  my  being,  is  conscious 
of  itself.  Quite  as  conceivable  is  my  consciousness 
of  corporeal  objects  existing  beyond  myself.  The 
powers  in  whose  manifestation  my  personality  con- 
sists,— the  formative — the  self-moving — the  thinking 
powers — are  not  these  same  powers  as  they  exist  in 
Nature  at  large,  but  only  a  certain  definite  portion  of 
them ;  and  that  they  are  but  such  a  portion,  is  because 
there  are  so  many  other  existences  beyond  me.  From 
the  former,  I  can  infer  the  latter ;  from  the  limitation, 
that  which  limits.  Because  I  myself  am  not  this  or 
that,  which  yet  belongs  to  the  connected  system  of  ex- 
istence, it  must  exist  beyond  me; — thus  reasons  the 
thinking  principle  within  me.  Of  my  own  limitation, 
I  am  immediately  conscious,  because  it  is  a  part  of 
myself,  and  only  by  reason  of  it  do  I  possess  an  actual 
existence;  my  consciousness  of  the  source  of  this  lim- 
itation,— of  that  which  I  myself  am  not, — is  produced 
by  the  former,  and  arises  out  of  it. 

Away,  then,  with  those  pretended  influences  and 
operations  of  outward  things  upon  me,  by  means  of 
which  they  are  supposed  to  pour  in  upon  me  a  knowl- 
edge which  is  not  in  themselves  and  cannot  flow  forth 
from  them.  The  ground  upon  which  I  assume  the  ex- 
istence of  something  beyond  myself,  does  not  lie  out 
of  myself,  but  within  me,  in  the  limitation  of  my  own 
personality.  By  means  of  this  limitation,  the  think- 
ing principle  of  Nature  within  me  proceeds  out  of  it- 
self, and  is  able  to  survey  itself  as  a  whole,  although, 
in  each  individual,  from  a  different  point  of  view. 


BOOK  I.    DOUBT.  21 

In  the  same  way  there  arises  within  me  the  idea  of 
other  thinking  beings  like  myself.  I,  or  the  think- 
ing power  of  Nature  within  me,  possess  some  thoughts 
which  seem  to  have  developed  themselves  within  my- 
self as  a  particular  form  of  Nature ;  and  others,  which 
seem  not  to  have  so  developed  themselves.  And  so  it 
is  in  reality.  The  former  are  my  own  peculiar,  indi- 
vidual contributions  to  the  general  circle  of  thought 
in  Nature;  the  latter  are  deduced  from  them,  as  what 
must  surely  have  a  place  in  that  circle ;  but  being  only 
inferences  so  far  as  I  am  concerned,  must  find  that 
place,  not  in  me,  but  in  other  thinking  beings : — hence 
I  conclude  that  there  are  other  thinking  beings  besides 
myself.  In  short,  Nature,  becomes  in  me  conscious 
of  herself  as  a  whole,  but  only  by  beginning  with  my 
own  individual  consciousness,  and  proceeding  from 
thence  to  the  consciousness  of  universal  being  by  in- 
ference founded  on  the  principle  of  causality; — that 
is,  she  is  conscious  of  the  conditions  under  which  alone 
such  a  form,  such  a  motion,  such  a  thought  as  that 
in  which  my  personality  consists,  is  possible.  The 
principle  of  causality  is  the  point  of  transition,  from 
the  particular  within  myself,  to  the  universal  which 
lies  beyond  myself;  and  the  distinguishing  character- 
istic of  those  two  kinds  of  knowledge  is  this,  that  the 
one  is  immediate  perception,  while  the  other  is  in- 
ference. 

In  each  individual,  Nature  beholds  herself  from 
a  particular  point  of  view.  I  call  myself — 7,  and  thee 
— thou]  thou  callest  thyself — I,  and  me — thou;  I  lie 
beyond  thee,  as  thou  beyond  me.  Of  what"  is  without 
me,  I  comprehend  first  those  things  which  touch  me 
most  nearly ;  thou,  those  which  touch  thee  most  nearly ; 
— from  these  points  we  each  proceed  onwards  to  the 


22  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

next  proximate;  but  we  describe  very  different  paths, 
which  may  here  and  there  intersect  each  other,  but 
never  run  parallel.  There  is  an  infinite  variety  of  pos- 
sible individuals,  and  hence  also  an  infinite  variety  of 
possible  starting  points  of  consciousness.  This  con- 
sciousness of  all  individuals  taken  together,  constitutes, 
the  complete  consciousness  of  the  universe;  and  there 
is  no  other,  for  only  in  the  individual  is  there  definite 
completeness  and  reality. 

The  testimony  of  consciousness  in  each  individual 
is  altogether  sure  and  trustworthy,  if  it  be  indeed  the 
consciousness  here  described;  for  this  consciousness 
develops  itself  out  of  the  whole  prescribed  course  of 
Nature,  and  Nature  cannot  contradict  herself.  Wher- 
ever there  is  a  conception,  there  must  be  a  correspond- 
ing existence,  for  conceptions  are  only  produced 
simultaneously  with  the  production  of  the  correspond- 
ing realities.  To  each  individual  his  own  particular 
consciousness  is  wholly  determined,  for  it  proceeds 
from  his  own  nature: — no  one  can  have  other  con- 
ceptions, or  a  greater  or  less  degree  of  vitality  in  these 
conceptions,  than  he  actually  has.  The  substance  of  his 
conceptions  is  determined  by  the  position  which  he 
assumes  in  the  universe;  their  clearness  and  vitality, 
by  the  higher  or  lower  degree  of  efficiency  mani- 
fested by  the  power  of  humanity  in  his  person.  Give 
to  Nature  the  determination  of  one  single  element 
of  a  person,  let  it  seem  to  be  ever  so  trivial, — the 
course  of  a  muscle,  the  turn  of  a  hair, — and,  had  she  a 
universal  consciousness  and  were  able  to  reply  to  thee, 
she  could  tell  thee  all  the  thoughts  which  could  belong 
to  this  person  during  the  whole  period  of  his  conscious 
existence. 

In  this  system  also,  the  phenomenon  of  our  con- 


BOOK  I.    DOUBT.  2$ 

sciousness  which  we  call  Will,  becomes  thoroughly  in- 
telligible. A  volition  is  the  immediate  consciousness 
of  the  activity  of  any  of  the  powers  of  Nature  within 
us.  The  immediate  consciousness  of  an  effort  of  these 
powers  which  has  not  yet  become  a  reality  because  it 
is  hemmed  in  by  opposing  powers,  is,  in  conscious- 
ness, inclination  or  desire; — the  struggle  of  contend- 
ing powers  is  irresolution; — the  victory  of  one  is  the 
determination  of  the  Will.  If  the  'power  which  strives 
after  activity  be  only  that  which  we  have  in  common 
with  the  plant  or  the  anim!al,  there  arises  a  division 
and  degradation  of  our  inward  being;  the  desire  is 
unworthy  of  our  rank  in  the  order  of  things,  and, 
according  to  a  common  use  of  language,  may  be  called 
a  low  one.  If  this  striving  power  be  the  whole  undi- 
vided force  of  humanity,  then  is  the  desire  worthy 
of  our  nature,  and  it  may  be  called  a  high  one.  The 
latter  effort,  considered  absolutely,  may  be  called  a 
moral  law.  The  activity  of  this  latter  is  a  virtuous 
Will,  and  the  course  of  action  resulting  from  it  is 
virtue.  The  triumph  of  the  former  not  in  harmony 
with  the  latter  is  vice ;  such  a  triumph  over  the  latter, 
and  despite  its  opposition,  is  crime. 

The  power,  which,  on  each  individual  occasion, 
proves  triumphant,  triumphs  of  necessity ;  its  superior- 
ity is  determined  by  the  whole  connexion  of  the  uni- 
verse ;  and  hence  by  the  whole  connexion  is  the  vice  or 
crime  of  each  individual  irrevocably  determined.  Give 
to  Nature,  once  more,  the  course  of  a  muscle,  the  turn 
of  a  hair,  in  any  particular  individual,  and,  had  she 
the  power  of  universal  thought  and  could  answer  thee, 
she  would  be  able  to  declare  all  the  good  and  evil 
deeds  of  his  life  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of 
it.  But  still  virtue  does  not  cease  to  be  virtue,  nor 


24  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

vice  to  be  vice.  The  virtuous  man  is  a  noble  product 
of  nature;  the  vicious,  an  ignoble  and  contemptible 
one: — although  both  are  necessary  results  of  the  con- 
nected system  of  the  universe. 

Repentance  is  the  consciousness  of  the  continued 
effort  of  humanity  within  me,  even  after  it  has  been 
overcome,  associated  with  the  disagreeable  sense  of  hav- 
ing been  subdued ;  a  disquieting  but  still  precious  pledge 
of  our  nobler  nature.  From  this  consciousness  of  the 
fundamental  impulse  of  our  nature,  arises  the  sense 
which  has  been  called  '  conscience,'  and  its  greater  or 
less  degree  of  strictness  and  susceptibility,  down  to 
the  absolute  want  of  it  in  many  individuals.  The  ig- 
noble man  is  incapable  of  repentance,  for  in  him 
humanity  has  at  no  time  sufficient  strength  to  contend 
with  the  lower  impulses.  Reward  and  punishment  are 
the  natural  consequences .  of  virtue  and  vice  for  the 
production  of  new  virtue  and  new  vice.  By  frequent 
and  important  victories,  our  peculiar  power  is  extended 
and  strengthened;  by  inaction  or  frequent  defeat,  it 
becomes  ever  weaker  and  weaker.  The  ideas  of  guilt 
and  accountability  have  no  meaning  but  in  external  leg- 
islation. He  only  has  incurred  guilt,  and  must  render 
an  account  of  his  crime,  who  compels  society  to  employ 
artificial  external  force  in  order  to  restrain  in  him  the 
activity  of  those  impulses  which  are  injurious  to  the 
general  welfare. 

My  inquiry  is  closed,  and  my  desire  of  knowledge 
satisfied.  I  know  what  I  am,  and  wherein  the  nature 
of  my  species  consists.  I  am  a  manifestation,  deter- 
mined by  the  whole  system  of  the  universe,  of  a  power 
of  Nature  which  is  determined  by  itself.  To  under- 
stand thoroughly  my  particular  personal  being  in  its 


BOOK  I.    DOUBT.  25 

deepest  sources  is  impossible,  for  I  cannot  penetrate 
into  the  innermost  recesses  of  Nature.  But  I  am 
immediately  conscious  of  this  my  personal  existence. 
I  know  right  well  what  I  am  at  the  present  moment; 
I  can  for  the  most  part  remember  what  I  have  been 
formerly ;  and  I  shall  learn  what  I  shall  be,  when 
what  is  now  future  shall  become  present  experience. 

I  cannot  indeed  make  use  of  this  discovery  in  the 
regulation  of  my  actions,  for  I  do  not  truly  act  at  all, 
but  Nature  acts  in  me;  and  to  make  myself  anything 
else  than  that  for  which  Nature  has  intended  me,  is 
what  I  cannot  even  propose  to  myself,  for  I  am  not 
the  author  of  my  own  being,  but  Nature  has  rriade  me 
myself,  and  all  that  I  am.  I  may  repent,  and  rejoice, 
and  form  good  resolutions ; — although,  strictly  speak- 
ing, I  cannot  even  do  this,  for  all  these  things  come 
to  me  of  themselves,  when  it  is  appointed  for  them 
to  come; — but  most  certainly  I  cannot,  by  all  my 
repentance,  and  by  all  my  resolutions^  produce  the 
smallest  change  in  that  which  I  must  once  for  all 
inevitably  become.  I  stand  under  the  inexorable 
power  of  rigid  Necessity: — should  she  have  destined 
me  to  become  a  fool  and  a  profligate,  a  fool  and  a 
profligate  without  doubt  I  shall  become;  should  she 
have  destined  me  to  be  wise  and  good,  wise  and  good 
I  shall  doubtless  be.  There  is  neither  blame  nor  merit 
to  her  nor  to  me.  She  stands  under  her  own  laws,  I 
under  hers.  I  see  this,  and  feel  that  my  tranquillity 
would  be  best  ensured  by  subjecting  my  wishes  also  to 
that  Necessity  to  which  my  being  is  wholly  subject. 


But,  oh  these  opposing  wishes!     For  why  should  I 
any  longer  hide  from  myself  the  sadness,  the  horror, 


26  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

the  amazement  with  which  I  was  penetrated  when  I 
saw  how  my  inquiry  must  end  ?  I  had  solemnly  prom- 
ised myself  that  my  inclinations  should  have  no  in- 
fluence in  the  direction  of  my  thoughts;  and  I  have 
not  knowingly  allowed  them  any  such  influence.  But 
may  I  not  at  last  confess  that  this  result  contradicts 
the  profoundest  aspirations,  wishes,  and  wants  of  my 
being.  And,  despite  of  the  accuracy  and  the  decisive 
strictness  of  the  proofs  by  which  it  seems  to  be  sup- 
ported, how  can  I  truly  believe  in  a  theory  of  my  being 
which  strikes  at  the  very  root  of  that  being,  which  so 
distinctly  contradicts  all  the  purposes  for  which  alone 
I  live,  and  without  which  I  should  loathe  my  exist- 
ence? 

Why  must  my  heart  mourn  at,  and  be  lacerated  by, 
that  which  so  perfectly  satisfies  my  understanding? 
While  nothing  in  Nature  contradicts  itself,  is  man 
alone  a  contradiction?  Or  perhaps  not  man  in  gen- 
eral, but  only  me  and  those  who  resemble  me?  Had 
I  but  been  contented  to  remain  amid  the  pleasant  de- 
lusions that  surrounded  me,  satisfied  with  the  imme- 
diate consciousness  of  my  existence,  and  never  raised 
those  questions  concerning  its  foundation,  the  answer 
to  which  has  caused  me  this  misery!  But  if  this  an- 
swer be  true,  then  I  must  of  necessity  have  raised 
these  questions:  I  indeed  raised  them  not, — the  think- 
ing nature  within  me  raised  them.  I  was  destined 
to  this  misery,  and  I  weep  in  vain  the  lost  innocence 
of  soul  which  can  never  return  to  me  again. 


But  courage!  Let  all  else  be  lost,  so  that  this  at 
least  remains !  Merely  for  the  sake  of  my  wishes,  did 
they  lie  ever  so  deep  or  seem  ever  so  sacred,  I  cannot 


BOOK  I.    DOUBT.  27 

renounce  what  rests  on  incontrovertible  evidence. 
But  perhaps  I  may  have  erred  in  my  investigation ; — 
perhaps  I  may  have  only  partially  comprehended  and 
imperfectly  considered  the  grounds  upon  which  I  had 
to  proceed.  I  ought  to  retrace  the  inquiry  again  from 
the  opposite  end,  in  order  that  I  may  at  least  possess 
a  correct  starting  point.  What  is  it,  then,  that  I  find 
so  repugnant,  so  painful,  in  the  decision  to  which  I 
have  come?  What  is  it,  which  I  desired  to  find  in  its 
place  ?  Let  me  before  all  things  make  clear  to  myself 
what  are  these  inclinations  to  which  I  appeal. 

That  I  should  be  destined  to  be  wise  and  good,  or 
foolish  and  profligate,  without  power  to  change  this 
destiny  in  aught, — in  the  former  case  having  no  merit, 
and  in  the  latter  incurring  no  guilt, — this  it  was  that 
filled  me  with  amazement  and  horror.  The  reference 
of  my  being,  and  of  all  the  determinations  of  my  be- 
ing, to  a  cause  lying  out  of  myself, — the  manifestations 
of  which  were  again  determined  by  other  causes  out 
of  itself, — this  it  was  from  which  I  so  violently  re- 
coiled. That  freedom  which  was  not  my  own,  but 
that  of  a  foreign  power  without  me,  and  even  in  that, 
only  a  limited  half-freedom, — this  it  was  which  did  not 
satisfy  me.  I  myself, — that  of  which  I  am  conscious 
as  my  own  being  and  person,  but  which  in  this  system 
appears  as  only  the  manifestation  of  a  higher  exist- 
ence,— this  "  I  "  would  be  independent, — would  be 
something,  not  by  another  or  through  another,  but  of 
myself, — and,  as  such,  would  be  the  final  root  of  all 
my  own  determinations.  The  rank  which  in  this  sys- 
tem is  assumed  by  an  original  power  of  Nature  I  would 
myself  assume ;  with  this  difference,  that  the  modes  of 
my  manifestations  shall  not  be  determined  by  any  for- 
eign power.  I  desire  to  possess  an  inward  and  pe- 


28  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

culiar  power  of  manifestation,  infinitely  manifold 
like  those  powers  of  Nature;  and  this  power  shall 
manifest  itself  in  the  particular  way  in  which  it  does 
manifest  itself,  for  no  other  reason  than  because  it 
does  so  manifest  itself;  not,  like  these  powers  of 
Nature,  because  it  is  placed  under  such  or  such  out- 
ward conditions. 

What  then,  according  to  my  wish,  shall  be  the  espe- 
cial seat  and  centre  of  this  peculiar  inward  power? 
Evidently  not  my  body,  for  that  I  willingly  allow  to 
pass  for  a  manifestation  of  the  powers  of  Nature, — 
at  least  so  far  as  its  constitution  is  concerned,  if  not 
with  regard  to  its  farther  determinations;  not  my 
sensuous  inclinations,  for  these  I  regard  as  a  relation 
of  those  powers  to  my  consciousness.  Hence  it  must 
be  my  thought  and  will.  I  would  exercise  my  volun- 
tary power  freely,  for  the  accomplishment  of  aims 
which  I  shall  have  freely  adopted ;  and  this  will,  as  its 
ultimate  ground  which  can  be  determined  by  no  higher, 
shall  move  and  mould,  first  my  own  body,  and  through 
it  the  surrounding  world.  My  active  powers  shall  be 
under  the  control  of  my  will  alone,  and  shall  be  set 
in  motion  by  nothing  else  than  by  it.  Thus  it  shall  be. 
There  shall  be  a  Supreme  Good  in  the  spiritual  world ; 
I  shall  have  the  power  to  seek  this  with  freedom  until 
I  find  it,  to  acknowledge  it  as  such  when  found,  and 
it  shall  be  my  fault  if  I  do  not  find  it.  This  Supreme 
Good  I  shall  will  to  know,  merely  because  I  will  it; 
and  if  I  will  anything  else  instead  of  it,  the  fault  shall 
be  mine.  My  actions  shall  be  the  result  of  this  will, 
and  without  it  there  shall  absolutely  no  action  of  mine 
ensue,  since  there  shall  be  no  other  power  over  my 
actions  but  this  will.  Then  shall  my  powers,  deter- 
mined by,  and  subject  to  the  dominion  of,  my  will, 


BOOK  1.    DOUBT.  29 

invade  the  external  world.  I  will  be  the  lord  of  Na- 
ture, and  she  shall  be  my  servant.  I  will  influence 
her  according  to  the  measure  of  my  capacity,  but  she 
shall  have  no  influence  on  me. 


This,  then,  is  the  substance  of  my  wishes  and  aspira- 
tions. But  the  system,  which  has  satisfied  my  under- 
standing, has  wholly  repudiated  these.  According  to 
the  one,  I  am  wholly  independent  of  Nature  and  of 
any  law  which  I  do  not  impose  upon  myself;  accord- 
ing to  the  other,  I  am  but  a  strictly  determined  link 
in  the  chain  of  Nature.  Whether  such  a  freedom  as  I 
have  desired  be  at  all  conceivable,  and,  if  so,  whether 
there  be  not  grounds  which,  on  complete  and  thorough 
investigation,  may  compel  me  to  accept  it  as  a  reality 
and  to  ascribe  it  to  myself,  and  whereby  the  result  of 
my  former  conclusions  might  thus  be  refuted ; — this  is 
now  the  question. 

To  be  free,  in  the  sense  stated,  means  that  I  myself 
will  make  myself  whatever  I  am  to  be.  I  must  then, — 
and  this  is  what  is  most  surprising,  and,  at  first  sight, 
absurd  in  the  idea, — I  must  already  be,  in  a  certain 
sense,  that  which  I  shall  become,  in  order  to  be  able 
to  become  so;  I  must  possess  a  two- fold  being,  o'f 
which  the  first  shall  contain  the  fundamental  determin- 
ing principle  of  the  second.  If  I  interrogate  my  im- 
mediate self-consciousness  on  this  matter,  I  find  the 
following.  I  have  the  knowledge  of  various  possible 
courses  of  action,  from  amongst  which,  as  it  appears 
to  me,  I  may  choose  which  I  please.  I  run  through 
the  whole  circle,  enlarge  it,  examine  the  various 
courses,  compare  one  with  another  and  consider.  I  at 
length  decide  upon  one,  determine  my  will  in  accord- 


30  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

ance  with  it,  and  this  resolution  of  my  will  is  followed 
by  a  corresponding  action.  Here  then,  certainly,  I 
am  beforehand,  in  the  mere  conception  of  a  purpose, 
what  subsequently,  by  means  of  this  conception  I  am 
in  will  and  in  action.  I  am  beforehand  as  a  thinking 
what  I  am  afterwards  as  an  active,  being.  I  create 
myself: — my  being  by  my  thought,  my  thought  by 
thought  itself.  One  can  conceive  the  determinate 
state  of  a  manifestation  of  a  mere  power  of  Nature, 
of  a  plant  for  instance,  as  preceded  by  an  indeterminate 
state,  in  which,  if  left  to  itself,  it  might  have  assumed 
any  one  of  an  infinite  variety  of  possible  determina- 
tions. These  manifold  possibilities  are  certainly  possi- 
bilities within  it,  contained  in  its  original  constitution, 
but  they  are  not  possibilities  for  it,  because 
it  is  incapable  of  such  an  idea,  and  cannot  choose 
or  of  itself  put  an  end  to  this  state  of  indecision : 
there  must  be  external  grounds  by  which  it  may  be 
determined  to  some  one  of  those  various  possibilities 
to  which  it  is  unable  to  determine  itself.  This  deter- 
mination can  have  no  previous  existence  within  it,  for 
it  is  capable  of  but  one  mode  of  determination,  that 
which  it  has  actually  assumed.  Hence  it  was,  that  I 
formerly  felt  myself  compelled  to  maintain  that  the 
manifestation  of  every  power  must  receive  its  final  de- 
termination from  without.  Doubtless  I  then  thought 
only  of  such  powers  as  are  incapable  of  consciousness, 
and  manifest  themselves  merely  in  the  outward  world. 
To  them  that  assertion  may  be  applied  without  the 
slightest  limitation ; — but  to  intelligences  the  grounds 
of  it  are  not  applicable,  and  it  was,  therefore,  rash  to 
extend  it  to  them. 

Freedom,  such  as  I  have  laid  claim  to,  is  conceivable 
only  of  intelligences;  but  to  them,  undoubtedly,  it  be- 


BOOK  I.    DOUBT.  31 

longs.  Under  this  supposition,  man,  as  well  as  nature, 
is  perfectly  comprehensible.  My  body,  and  my  ca- 
pacity of  operating  in  the  world  of  sense,  are,  as  in 
the  former  system,  manifestations  of  certain  limited 
powers  of  Nature ;  and  my  natural  inclinations  are  the 
relations  of  these  manifestations  to  my  consciousness. 
The  mere  knowledge  of  what  exists  independently  of 
me  arises  under  this  supposition  of  freedom,  precisely 
as  in  the  former  system;  and  up  to  this  point,  both 
agree.  But  according  to  the  former, — and  here  begins 
the  opposition  between  these  systems, — according  to 
the  former,  my  capacity  of  physical  activity  remains 
under  the  dominion  of  Nature,  and  is  constantly  set 
in  motion  by  the  same  power  which  produced  it,  and 
thought  has  here  nothing  whatever  to  do  but  to  look 
on;  according  to  the  latter,  this  capacity,  once 
brought  into  existence,  falls  under  the  dominion  of  a 
power  superior  to  Nature  and  wholly  independent  of 
her  laws, — the  power  of  determinate  purpose  and  of 
will.  Thought  is  no  longer  the  mere  faculty  of  ob- 
servation;— it  is  the  source  of  action  itself.  In  the 
one  case,  my  state  of  indecision  is  put  an  end  to  by 
forces,  external  and  invisible  to  me,  which  limit  my  ac- 
tivity as  well  as  my  immediate  consciousness  of  it — 
that  is,  my  will — to  one  point,  just  as  the  indeter- 
minate activity  of  the  plant  is  limited; — in  the  other, 
it  is  I  myself,  independent,  and  free  from  the  influence 
of  all  outward  forces,  who  put  an  end  to  my  state  of 
indecision,  and  determine  my  own  course,  according 
to  the  knowledge  I  have  freely  attained  of  what  is 
best.  

Which  of  these  two  opinions  shall  I  adopt?    Am  I 
free  and  independent  ? — or  am  I  nothing  in  myself,  and 


32  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

merely  the  manifestation  of  a  foreign  power?  It  is 
clear  to  me  that  neither  of  the  two  doctrines  is  suffi- 
ciently supported.  For  the  first,  there  is  no  other 
recommendation  than  its  mere  conceivableness ;  for  the 
latter,  I  extend  a  principle,  which  is  perfectly  true 
in  its  own  place,  beyond  its  proper  and  natural  applica- 
tion. If  intelligence  is  merely  the  manifestation  of  a 
power  of  Nature,  then  I  do  quite  right  to  extend  this 
principle  to  it ;  but,  whether  it  is  so  or  not,  is  the  very 
question  at  issue;  and  this  question  I  must  solve  by 
deduction  from  other  premises,  not  by  a  one-sided 
answer  assumed  at  the  very  commencement  of  the 
inquiry,  from  which  I  again  deduce  that  only  which 
I  myself  have  previously  placed  in  it.  In  short,  it 
would  seem  that  neither  of  the  two  opinions  can  be 
established  by  argument. 

As  little  can  this  matter  be  determined  by  imme- 
diate consciousness.  I  can  never  become  conscious 
either  of  the  external  powers,  by  which,  in  the  system 
of  universal  necessity,  I  am  determined ;  nor  of  my  own 
power,  by  which,  on  the  system  of  freedom,  I  deter- 
mine myself.  Thus  whichsoever  of  the  two  opinions  I 
may  accept,  I  still  accept  it,  not  upon  evidence,  but 
merely  by  arbitrary  choice. 

The  system  of  freedom  satisfies  my  heart ;  the  oppo- 
site system  destroys  and  annihilates  it.  To  stand,  cold 
and  unmoved,  amid  the  current  of  events,  a  passive 
mirror  of  fugitive  and  passing  phenomena, — this 
existence  is  insupportable  to  me ;  I  scorn  and  detest  it. 
I  will  love: — I  will  lose  myself  in  sympathy; — I  will 
know  the  joy  and  the  grief  of  life.  I  myself  am  the 
highest  object  of  this  sympathy;  and  the  only  mode  in 
which  I  can  satisfy  its  requirements  is  by  my  actions. 
I  will  do  all  for  the  best ; — I  will  rejoice  when  I  have 


BOOK  I.    DOUBT.  33 

done  right,  I  will  grieve  when  I  have  done  wrong ;  and 
even  this  sorrow  shall  be  sweet  to  me,  for  it  is  a  chord 
of  sympathy, — a  pledge  of  future  amendment.  In  love 
only  there  is  life; — without  it  is  death  and  annihila- 
tion. 

But  coldly  and  insolently  does  the  opposite  system 
advance,  and  turn  this  love  into  a  mockery.  If  I  listen 
to  it,  I  am  not,  and  I  cannot  act.  The  object  of  my 
most  intimate  attachment  is  a  phantom  of  the  brain, — 
a  gross  and  palpable  delusion.  Not  I,  but  a  foreign 
and  to  me  wholly  unknown  power,  acts  in  me ;  and  it  is 
a  matter  of  indifference  to  me  how  this  power  unfolds 
itself.  I  stand  abashed,  with  my  warm  affections  and 
my  virtuous  will,  and  blush  for  what  I  know  to  be 
best  and  purest  in  my  nature,  for  the  sake  of  which 
alone  I  would  exist,  as  for  a  ridiculous  folly.  What 
is  holiest  in  me  is  given  over  as  a  prey  to  scorn. 

Doubtless  it  was  the  love  of  this  love,  an  interest 
in  this  interest,  that  impelled  me,  unconsciously,  be- 
fore I  entered  upon  the  inquiry  which  has  thus  per- 
plexed and  distracted  me,  to  regard  myself,  without 
farther  question,  as  free  and  independent;  doubtless  it 
was  this  interest  which  has  led  me  to  carry  out,  even 
to  conviction,  an  opinion  which  has  nothing  in  its 
favour  but  its  intelligibility,  and  the  impossibility  of 
proving  its  opposite;  it  was  this  interest  which  has 
hitherto  restrained  me  from  seeking  any  farther  ex- 
planation of  myself  and  my  capacities. 

The  opposite  system,  barren  and  heartless  indeed, 
but  exhaustless  in  its  explanations,  will  explain  even 
this  desire  for  freedom,  and  this  aversion  to  the  con- 
trary doctrine.  It  explains  everything  which  I  can 
cite  from  my  own  consciousness  against  it,  and  as 
as  I  say  '  thus  and  thus  is  the  case,'  it  replies  with 


34  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

the  same  cool  complacency,  "  I  say  so  too ;  and  I  tell 
you  besides  why  it  must  necessarily  be  so."  "  When 
thou  speakest  of  thy  heart,  thy  love,  thy  interest  in 
this  and  that,"  thus  will  it  answer  all  my  complaints, 
"  thou  standest  merely  at  the  point  of  immediate  self- 
consciousness  of  thine  own  being,  and  this  thou  hast 
confessed  already  in  asserting  that  thou  thyself  art  the 
object  of  thy  highest  interest.  Now  it  is  already  well 
known,  and  we  have  proved  it  above,  that  this  thou 
for  whom  thou  art  so  deeply  interested,  in  so  far  as  it 
is  not  the  mere  activity  of  thy  individual  inward  na- 
ture, is  at  least  an  impulse  of  it ; — every  such  impulse, 
as  surely  as  it  exists,  returns  on  itself  and  impels  itself 
to  activity; — and  we  can  thus  understand  how  this 
impulse  must  manifest  itself  in  consciousness,  as  love 
for,  and  interest  in,  free  individual  activity.  Couldst 
thou  exchange  this  narrow  point  of  view  in  self-con- 
sciousness for  the  higher  position  in  which  thou  mayest 
grasp  the  universe,  which  indeed  thou  hast  promised 
thyself  to  take,  then  it  would  become  clear  to  thee  that 
what  thou  hast  named  thy  love  is  not  thy  love,  but  a 
foreign  love, — the  interest  which  the  original  power  of 
Nature  manifesting  itself  in  thee  takes  in  maintaining 
its  own  peculiar  existence.  Do  not  then  appeal  again 
to  thy  love ;  for  even  if  that  could  prove  anything  be- 
sides, its  supposition  here  is  wholly  irregular  and  un- 
justifiable. Thou  lovest  not  thyself,  for,  strictly  speak- 
ing, thou  art  not;  it  is  Nature  in  thee  which  concerns 
herself  for  her  own  preservation.  Thou  hast  admitted 
without  dispute,  that  although  in  the  plant  there  exists 
a  peculiar  impulse  to  grow  and  develop  itself,  the 
specific  activity  of  this  impulse  yet  depends  upon  forces 
lying  beyond  itself.  Bestow  consciousness  upon  the 
plant, — and  it  will  regard  this  instinct  of  growth  with 


BOOK  I.    DOUBT.  35 

interest  and  love.  Convince  it  by  reasoning  that  this 
instinct  is  unable  of  itself  to  accomplish  anything 
whatever,  but  that  the  measure  of  its  manifestation  is 
always  determined  by  something  out  of  itself, — and  it 
will  speak  precisely  as  thou  hast  spoken;  it  will  be- 
have in  a  manner  that  may  be  pardoned  in  a  plant,  but 
which  by  no  means  beseems  thee,  who  art  a  higher 
product  of  Nature,  and  capable  of  comprehending  the 
universe." 

What  can  I  answer  to  this  representation  ?  Should 
I  venture  to  place  myself  at  its  point  of  view,  upon 
this  boasted  position  from  whence  I  may  embrace  the 
universe  in  my  comprehension,  doubtless  I  must  blush 
and  be  silent.  This,  therefore,  is  the  question, — 
whether  I  shall  at  once  assume  this  position,  or  con- 
fine myself  to  the  range  of  immediate  self-conscious- 
ness; whether  love  shall  be  made  subject  to  knowledge, 
or  knowledge  to  love.  The  latter  stands  in  bad  esteem 
among  intelligent  people; — the  former  renders  me  in- 
describably miserable,  by  extinguishing  my  own  per- 
sonal being  within  me.  I  cannot  do  the  latter  with- 
out appearing  inconsiderate  and  foolish  in  my  own 
estimation; — I  cannot  do  the  former  without  delib- 
erately annihilating  my  own  existence. 

I  cannot  remain  in  this  state  of  indecision;  on  the 
solution  of  this  question  depends  my  whole  peace  and 
dignity.  As  impossible  is  it  for  me  to  decide;  I  have 
absolutely  no  ground  of  decision  in  favour  of  the  one 
opinion  or  the  other. 

Intolerable  state  of  uncertainty  and  irresolution! 
Through  the  best  and  most  courageous  resolution  of 
my  life,  I  have  been  reduced  to  this!  What  power 
can  deliver  me  from  it? — what  power  can  deliver  me 
from  myself? 


BOOK  II. 

KNOWLEDGE. 

CHAGRIN  and  anguish  stung  me  to  the  heart.  I  cursed 
the  returning  day  which  called  me  back  to  an  exist- 
ence whose  truth  and  significance  were  now  involved 
in  doubt.  I  awoke  in  the  night  from  unquiet  dreams. 
I  sought  anxiously  for  a  ray  of  light  that  might  lead 
me  out  of  these  mazes  of  uncertainty.  I  sought,  but 
became  only  more  deeply  entangled  in  the  labyrinth. 

Once  at  the  hour  of  midnight,  a  wondrous  shape 
appeared  before  me,  and  addressed  me: — 

"  Poor  mortal,"  I  heard  it  say,  "  thou  heapest  error 
upon  error,  and  fanciest  thyself  wise.  Thou  tremblest 
before  the  phantoms  which  thou  hast  thyself  toiled  to 
create.  Dare  to  become  truly  wise.  I  bring  thee  no 
new  revelation.  What  I  can  teach  thee  thou  already 
knowest,  and  thou  hast  but  to  recall  it  to  thy  remem- 
brance. I  cannot  deceive  thee;  for  thou,  thyself,  wilt 
acknowledge  me  to  be  in  the  right;  and  shouldst  thou 
still  be  deceived,  thou  wilt  be  deceived  by  thyself. 
Take  courage; — listen  to  me,  and  answer  my  ques- 
tions." 

I  took  courage.  "  He  appeals  to  my  own  under- 
standing. I  will  make  the  venture.  He  cannot  force 
his  own  thoughts  into  my  mind;  the  conclusion  to 
which  I  shall  come  must  be  thought  out  by  myself; 
the  conviction  which  I  shall  accept  must  be  of  my 
own  creating.  Speak,  wonderful  Spirit !  "  I  exclaimed, 

36 


BOOK  II.    KNOWLEDGE.  37 

"  whatever  thou  art !  Speak,  and  I  will  listen.  Ques- 
tion me,  and  I  will  answer." 

The  Spirit.  Thou  believest  that  these  objects  here, 
and  those  there,  are  actually  present  before  thee  and 
out  of  thyself? 

/.  Certainly  I  do. 

Spirit.  And  how  dost  thou  know  that  they  are  ac- 
tually present? 

I.  I  see  them;  I  would  feel  them  were  I  to  stretch 
forth  my  hand;  I  can  hear  the  sounds  they  produce; 
they  reveal  themselves  to  me  through  all  my  senses. 

Spirit.  Indeed!  Thou  wilt  perhaps  by  and  by  re- 
tract the  assertion  that  thou  seest,  feelest,  and  hearest 
these  objects.  For  the  present  I  will  speak  as  thou 
dost,  as  if  thou  didst  really,  by  means  of  thy  sight, 
touch,  and  hearing,  perceive  the  real  existence  of  ob- 
jects. But  observe,  it  is  only  by  means  of  thy  sight, 
touch,  and  other  external  senses.  Or  is  it  not  so? 
Dost  thou  perceive  otherwise  than  through  thy  senses? 
and  has  an  object  any  existence  for  thee,  otherwise 
than  as  thou  seest  it,  hearest  it,  &c.  ? 

/.  By  no  means. 

Spirit.  Sensible  objects,  therefore,  exist  for  thee, 
only  in  consequence  of  a  particular  determination  of 
thy  external  senses:  thy  knowledge  of  them  is  but  a 
result  of  thy  knowledge  of  this  determination  of  thy 
sight,  touch,  &c.  Thy  declaration — '  there  are  objects 
out  of  myself ;  depends  upon  this  other — '  I  see,  hear, 
feel,  and  so  forth. '  ? 

I.  This  is  my  meaning. 

Spirit.  And  how  dost  thou  know  then  that  thou 
seest,  hearest,  feelest  ? 

7.  I  do  not  understand  thee.  Thy  questions  appear 
strange  to  me. 


38  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

Spirit.  I  will  make  them  more  intelligible.  Dost 
thou  see  thy  sight,  and  feel  thy  touch,  or  hast  thou 
yet  a  higher  sense,  through  which  thou  perceivest  thy 
external  senses  and  their  determinations? 

/.  By  no  means.  I  know  immediately  that  I  see 
and  feel,  and  what  I  see  and  feel ;  I  know  this  while 
it  is,  and  simply  because  it  is,  without  the  intervention 
of  any  other  sense.  It  was  on  this  account  that  thy 
question  seemed  strange  to  me,  because  it  appeared  to 
throw  doubt  on  this  immediate  consciousness. 

Spirit.  That  was  not  my  intention :  I  desired  only 
to  induce  thee  to  make  this  immediate  consciousness 
clear  to  thyself.  So  thou  hast  an  immediate  conscious- 
ness of  thy  sight  and  touch  ? 

/.  Yes. 

Spirit.  Of  thy  sight  and  touch,  I  said.  Thou  art, 
therefore,  the  subject  seeing,  feeling,  &c. ;  and  when 
thou  art  conscious  of  the  seeing,  feeling,  &c.,  thou  are 
conscious  of  a  particular  determination  or  modification 
of  thyself. 

I.  Unquestionably. 

Spirit.  Thou  hast  a  consciousness  of  thy  seeing, 
feeling,  &c.,  and  thereby  thou  perceivest  the  object. 
Couldst  thou  not  perceive  it  without  this  conscious- 
ness? Canst  thou  not  recognize  an  object  by  sight 
or  hearing,  without  knowing  that  thou  seest  or  hear- 
est? 

/.  By  no  means. 

Spirit.  The  immediate  consciousness  of  thyself,  and 
of  thy  own  determinations,  is  therefore  the  imperative 
condition  of  all  other  consciousness;  and  thou  know- 
est  a  thing,  only  in  so  far  as  thou  knowest  that  thou 
knowest  it:  no  element  can  enter  into  the  latter  cog- 
nition which  is  not  contained  in  the  former.  Thoji 


BOOK  II.    KNOWLEDGE.  39 

canst  not  know  anything  without  knowing  that  thou 
knowest  it? 

7.  I  think  so. 

Spirit.  Therefore  thou  knowest  of  the  existence  of 
objects  only  by  means  of  seeing,  feeling  them,  &c. ; 
and  thou  knowest  that  thou  seest  and  feelest,  only  by 
means  of  an  immediate  consciousness  of  this  knowl- 
edge. What  thou  dost  not  perceive  immediately,  thou 
dost  not  perceive  at  all. 

/.  I  see  that  it  is  so. 

Spirit.  In  all  perception,  thou  perceivest  in  the  first 
place  only  thyself  and  thine  own  condition;  whatever 
is  not  contained  in  this  perception,  is  not  perceived 
at  all? 

7.  Thou  repeatest  what  I  have  already  admitted. 

Spirit.  I  would  not  weary  of  repeating  it  in  all  its 
applications,  if  I  thought  thou  hadst  not  thoroughly 
comprehended  it,  and  indelibly  impressed  it  on  thy 
mind.  Canst  thou  say,  I  am  conscious  of  external 
objects. 

7.  By  no  means,  if  I  speak  accurately ;  for  the  sight 
and  touch  by  which  I  grasp  these  objects  are  not  con- 
sciousness itself,  but  only  that  of  which  I  am  first  and 
most  immediately  conscious.  Strictly  speaking,  I  can 
only  say,  that  I  am  conscious  of  my  seeing  and  touch- 
ing of  these  objects. 

Spirit.  Do  not  forget,  then,  what  thou  hast  now 
clearly  understood.  In  all  perception  thou  perceivest 
only  thine  own  condition. 


I  shall,  however,  continue  to  speak  thy  language, 
since  it  is  most  familiar  to  thee.  Thou  hast  said  that 
thou  canst  see,  hear,  and  feel  objects.  How  then, — 


40  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

that  is,  with  what  properties  or  attributes, — dost  thou 
see  or  feel  them? 

/.  I  see  that  object  red,  this  blue;  when  I  touch 
them,  I  find  this  smooth,  that  rough — this  cold,  that 
warm. 

Spirit.  Thou  knowest  then  what  red,  blue,  smooth, 
rough,  cold,  and  warm,  really  signify. 

7.  Undoubtedly  I  do. 

Spirit.     Wilt  thou  not  describe  it  to  tne  then  ? 

/.  It  cannot  be  described.  Look!  Turn  thine  eye 
towards  that  object: — what  thou  becomest  conscious 
of  through  thy  sight,  I  call  red.  Touch  the  surface  of 
this  other  object: — what  thou  feelest,  I  call  smooth. 
In  this  way  I  have  arrived  at  this  knowledge,  and 
there  is  no  other  way  by  which  it  can  be  acquired. 

Spirit.  But  can  we  not,  at  least  from  some  of  these 
qualities  known  by  immediate  sensation,  deduce  a 
knowledge  of  others  differing  from  them?  If,  for 
instance,  any  one  had  seen  red,  green,  yellow,  but 
never  a  blue  colour;  had  tasted  sour,  sweet,  salt,  but 
never  bitter, — would  he  not,  by  mere  reflection  and 
comparison,  be  able  to  discover  what  is  meant  by  blue 
or  bitter,  without  having  ever  seen  or  tasted  anything 
of  the  kind  ? 

/.  Certainly  not.  What  is  matter  of  sensation  can 
only  be  felt,  it  is  not  discoverable  by  thought ;  it  is  no 
deduction,  but  a  direct  and  immediate  perception. 

Spirit.  Strange !  Thou  boastest  of  a  knowledge  re- 
specting which  thou  art  unable  to  tell  how  thou  hast 
attained  it.  For  see,  thou  maintainest  that  thou  canst 
see  one  quality  in  an  object,  feel  another,  hear  a  third; 
thou  must,  therefore,  be  able  to  distinguish  sight  from 
touch,  and  both  from  hearing? 

/.  Without  doubt. 


BOOK  IL    KNOWLEDGE.  41 

Spirit.  Thou  maintainest  further,  that  thou  seest 
this  object  red,  that  blue;  and  feelest  this  smooth,  that 
rough.  Thou  must  therefore  be  able  to  distinguish 
red  from  blue,  smooth  from  rough? 

7.  Without  doubt. 

Spirit.  And  thou  maintainest  that  thou  hast  not  dis- 
covered this  difference  by  means  of  reflection  and 
comparison  of  these  sensations  in  thyself.  But  per- 
haps thou  hast  learnt,  by  comparing  the  red  or  blue 
colours,  the  smooth  or  rough  surfaces  of  objects  out 
of  thyself,  what  thou  shouldst  feel  in  thyself  as  red  or 
blue,  smooth  or  rough? 

7.  This  is  impossible;  for  my  perception  of  objects 
proceeds  from  my  perception  of  my  own  internal  con- 
dition, and  is  determined  by  it,  but  not  the  contrary. 
I  first  distinguish  objects  by  distinguishing  my  own 
states  of  being.  I  can  learn  that  this  particular  sensa- 
tion is  indicated  by  the  wholly  arbitrary  sign,  red; — 
and  those  by  the  signs,  blue,  smooth,  rough;  but  I 
cannot  learn  that  the  sensations  themselves  are  distin- 
guished, nor  how  they  are  distinguished.  That  they 
are  different,  I  know  only  by  being  conscious  of  my- 
self, and  being  conscious  of  internal  change.  How 
they  differ,  I  cannot  describe;  but  I  know  that  they 
must  differ  as  much  as  my  self-consciousness  differs ; 
and  this  difference  of  sensations  is  an  immediate,  and 
by  no  means  an  acquired,  distinction. 

Spirit.  Which  thou  canst  make  independently  of  all 
knowledge  of  the  objects  themselves? 

7.  Which  I  must  make  independently  of  such  knowl- 
edge, for  this  knowledge  is  itself  dependent  on  that 
distinction. 

Spirit.  Which  is  then  given  to  thee  immediately 
through  mere  self-consciousness? 


42  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

I.  In  no  other  way. 

Spirit.  But  shouldst  thou  not  then  content  thyself 
with  saying, — "  I  feel  myself  affected  in  the  manner 
that  I  call  red,  blue,  smooth,  rough."?  Shouldst  thou 
not  place  these  sensations  in  thyself  alone?  and  not 
transfer  them  to  an  object  lying  entirely  out  of  thyself, 
and  declare  these  modifications  of  thyself  to  be  prop- 
erties of  this  object? 

Or,  tell  me,  when  thou  believest  that  thou  seest  an 
object  red,  or  feelest  it  smooth,  dost  thou  really  per- 
ceive anything  more  than  that  thou  art  affected  in  a 
certain  manner? 

7.  From  what  has  gone  before,  I  have  clearly  seen 
that  I  do  not,  in  fact,  perceive  more  than  what  thou 
sayest ;  and  this  transference  of  what  is  in  me  to  some- 
thing out  of  myself,  from  which  nevertheless  I  cannot 
refrain,  now  appears  very  strange  to  me. 

My  sensations  are  in  myself,  not  in  the  object,  for 
I  am  myself  and  not  the  object;  I  am  conscious  only 
of  myself  and  of  my  own  state,  not  of  the  state  of  the 
object.  If  there  is  a  consciousness  of  the  object,  that 
consciousness  is,  certainly,  neither  sensation  nor  per- 
ception : — thus  much  is  clear. 


Spirit.  Thou  formest  thy  conclusions  somewhat  pre- 
cipitately. Let  us  consider  this  matter  on  all  sides, 
so  that  I  may  be  assured  that  thou  wilt  not  again  re- 
tract what  thou  hast  now  freely  admitted 

Is  there  then  in  the  object,  as  thou  usually  conceivest 
of  it,  anything  more  than  its  red  colour,  its  smooth 
surface,  and  so  on;  in  short,  anything  besides  those 
characteristic  marks  which  thou  obtainest  through  im- 
mediate sensation? 


BOOK  //.    KNOWLEDGE.  43 

/.  I  believe  that  there  is :  besides  these  attributes 
there  is  yet  the  thing  itself  to  which  they  belong;  the 
substratum  which  supports  these  attributes. 

Spirit.  But  through  what  sense  does  thou  perceive 
this  substratum  of  these  attributes?  Dost  thou  see  it, 
feel  it,  hear  it;  or  is  there  perhaps  a  special  sense  for 
its  perception? 

/.     No.  I  think  that  I  see  and  feel  it. 

Spirit.  Indeed!  Let  us  examine  this  more  closely. 
Art  thou  then  ever  conscious  of  thy  sight  in  itself,  or 
at  all  times  only  of  determinate  acts  of  sight  ? 

7.  I  have  always  a  determinate  sensation  of  sight. 

Spirit.  And  what  is  this  determinate  sensation  of 
sight  with  respect  to  that  object  there? 

/.  That  of  red  colour. 

Spirit.  And  this  red  is  something  positive,  a  simple 
sensation,  a  specific  state  of  thyself? 

/.  This  I  have  understood. 

Spirit.  Thou  shouldst  therefore  see  the  red  in  itself 
as  simple,  as  a  mathematical  point,  and  thou  dost  see 
it  only  as  such.  In  thee  at  least,  as  an  affection  of 
thyself,  it  is  obviously  a  simple,  determinate  state, 
without  connexion  with  anything  else, — which  we  can 
only  describe  as  a  mathematical  point.  Or  dost  thou 
find  it  otherwise? 

7.  I  must  admit  that  such  is  the  case. 

Spirit.  But  now  thou  spreadest  this  simple  red  over 
a  broad  surface,  which  thou  assuredly  dost  not  see, 
since  thou  seest  only  a  simple  red.  How  dost  thou 
obtain  this  surface 

7.  It  is  certainly  strange. — Yet,  I  believe  that  I  have 
found  the  explanation.  I  do  not  indeed  see  the  sur- 
face, but  I  feel  it  when  I  pass  my  hand  over  it.  My 
sensation  of  sight  remains  the  same  during  this  process 


44  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

of  feeling,  and  hence  I  extend  the  red  colour  over  the 
whole  surface  which  I  feel  while  I  continue  to  see  the 
same  red. 

Spirit.  That  might  be  so,  didst  thou  really  feel  such 
a  surface.  But  let  us  see  whether  that  be  possible. 
Thou  dost  not  feel  absolutely  thou  feelest  only  thy  feel- 
ings, and  art  only  conscious  of  these  ? 

/.  Certainly.  Each  sensation  is  a  determinate  some- 
thing. I  never  merely  see,  or  hear,  or  feel,  in  general, 
but  my  sensations  are  always  definite; — red,  green, 
blue  colours,  cold,  warmth,  smoothness,  roughness,  the 
sound  of  the  violin,  the  voice  of  man,  and  the  like, — 
are  seen,  felt,  or  heard.  Let  that  be  settled  between  us. 

Spirit.  Willingly. — Thus,  when  thou  saidst  that  thou 
didst  feel  a  surface,  thou  hadst  only  an  immediate 
consciousness  of  feeling  smooth,  rough,  or  the  like? 

/.  Certainly. 

Spirit.  This  smooth  or  rough  is,  like  the  red  colour, 
a  sim'ple  sensation, — a  point  in  thee,  the  subject  in 
which  it  abides  ?  And  with  the  same  right  with  which 
I  formerly  asked  why  thou  didst  spread  a  simple  sen- 
sation of  sight  over  an  imaginary  surface,  do  I  now 
ask  why  thou  shouldst  do  the  same  with  a  simple 
sensation  of  touch? 

/.  This  smooth  surface  is  perhaps  not  equally  smooth 
in  all  points,  but  possesses  in  each  a  different  degree 
of  smoothness,  only  that  I  want  the  capacity  of  strictly 
distinguishing  these  degrees  from  each  other,  and  lan- 
guage whereby  to  retain  and  express  their  differences. 
Yet  I  do  distinguish  them,  unconsciously,  and  place 
them  side  by  side;  and  thus  I  form  the  conception 
of  a  surface. 

Spirit.  But  canst  thou,  in  the  same  undivided  mo- 


BOOK  II.    KNOWLEDGE.  45 

ment  of  time,  have  sensations  of  opposite  kinds,  or 
be  affected  at  the  same  time  in  different  ways? 

/.  By  no  means. 

Spirit.  Those  different  degrees  of  smoothness,  which 
thou  wouldst  assume  in  order  to  explain  what  thou 
canst  not  explain,  are  nevertheless,  in  so  far  as  they 
are  different  from  each  other,  mere  opposite  sensa- 
tions which  succeed  each  other  in  thee? 

/.  I  cannot  deny  this. 

Spirit.  Thou  shouldst  therefore  describe  them  as 
thou  really  findest  them, — as  successive  changes  of  the 
same  mathematical  point,  such  as  thou  perceivest  in 
other  cases ;  and  not  as  adjacent  and  simultaneous 
qualities  of  several  points  in  one  surface. 

/.  I  see  this,  and  I  find  that  nothing  is  explained  by 
my  assumption.  But  my  hand,  with  which  I  touch 
the  object  and  cover  it,  is  itself  a  surface;  and  by  it  I 
perceive  the  object  to  be  a  surface,  and  a  greater  one 
than  my  hand,  since  I  can  extend  my  hand  several 
times  upon  it. 

Spirit.  Thy  hand  is  a  surface  ?  How  dost  thou  know 
that?  How  dost  thou  attain  a  consciousness  of  thy 
hand  at  all?  Is  there  any  other  way  than  either  that 
thou  by  means  of  it  feelest  something  else,  in  which 
case  it  is  an  instrument ;  or  that  thou  feelest  itself  by 
means  of  some  other  part  of  thy  body,  in  which  case 
it  is  an  object? 

/.  No,  there  is  no  other.  With  my  hand  I  feel  some 
other  definite  object,  or  I  feel  my  hand  itself  by  means 
of  some  other  part  of  my  body.  I  have  no  immediate, 
absolute  consciousness  of  my  hand,  any  more  than  of 
my  sight  or  touch. 

Spirit.  Let  us,  at  present,  consider  only  the  case  in 
which  thy  hand  is  an  instrument,  for  this  will  deter- 


46  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

mine  the  second  case  also.  In  this  case  there  can  be 
nothing  more  in  the  immediate  perception  than  what 
belongs  to  sensation, — that  whereby  thou  thyself,  and 
here  in  particular  thy  hand,  is  conceived  of  as  the  sub- 
ject tasting  in  the  act  of  taste,  feeling  in  the  act  of 
touch.  Now,  either  thy  sensation  is  single;  in  which 
case  I  cannot  see  why  thou  shouldst  extend  this  single 
sensation  over  a  sentient  surface,  and  not  content  thy- 
self with  a  single  sentient  point; — or  thy  sensation  is 
varied;  and  in  this  case,  since  the  differences  must 
succeed  each  other,  I  again  do  not  see  why  thou 
shouldst  not  conceive  of  these  feelings  as  succeeding 
each  other  in  the  same  point.  That  thy  hand  should 
appear  to  thee  as  a  surface,  is  just  as  inexplicable  as 
thy  notion  of  a  surface  in  general.  Do  not  make  use 
of  the  first  in  order  to  explain  the  second,  until  thou 
hast  explained  the  first  itself.  The  second  case,  in 
wihich  thy  hand,  or  whatever  other  member  of  thy  body 
thou  wilt,  is  itself  the  object  of  a  sensation,  may  easily 
be  explained  by  means  of  the  first.  Thou  perceivest 
this  member  by  means  of  another,  which  is  then  the 
sentient  one.  I  ask  the  same  question  concerning  this 
latter  member  that  I  asked  concerning  thy  hand,  and 
thou  art  as  little  able  to  answer  it  as  before. 

So  it  is  with  the  surface  of  thy  eyes,  and  with  every 
other  surface  of  thy  body.  It  may  very  well  be  that 
the  consciousness  of  an  extension  out  of  thyself,  pro- 
ceeds from  the  consciousness  of  thine  own  extension 
as  a  material  body,  and  is  conditioned  by  it.  But  then 
thou  must,  in  the  first  place,  explain  this  extension  of 
thy  material  body. 

/.  It  is  enough.  I  now  perceive  clearly  that  I 
neither  see  nor  feel  the  superficial  extension  of  the 
properties  of  bodies,  nor  apprehend  it  by  any  other 


BOOK  IL    KNOWLEDGE.  47 

sense.  I  see  that  it  is  my  habitual  practice  to  extend 
over  a  surface,  what  nevertheless  in  sensation  is  but 
one  point;  to  represent  as  adjacent  and  simultaneous, 
what  I  ought  to  represent  as  only  successive,  since  in 
mere  sensation  there  is  nothing  simultaneous,  but  all 
is  successive.  I  discover  that  I  proceed  in  fact  exactly 
as  the  geometer  does  in  the  construction  of  his  figures, 
extending  points  to  lines,  and  lines  to  surfaces.  I  am 
astonished  how  I  should  have  done  this. 

Spirit.  Thou  dost  more  than  this,  and  what  is  yet 
more  strange.  This  surface  which  thou  attributest  to 
bodies,  thou  canst  indeed  neither  see  nor  feel,  nor  per- 
ceive by  any  organ;  but  it  may  be  said,  in  a  certain 
sense,  that  thou  canst  see  the  red  colour  upon  it,  or 
feel  the  smoothness.  But  thou  addest  something  more 
even  to  this  surface: — thou  extendest  it  to  a  solid 
mathematical  figure;  as  by  thy  previous  admission 
thou  hast  extended  the  line  to  a  surface.  Thou  as- 
sumest  a  substantial  interior  existence  of  the  body  be- 
hind its  surface.  Tell  me,  canst  thou  then  see,  feel,  or 
recognize  by  any  sense,  the  actual  presence  of  any 
thing  behind  this  surface? 

7.  By  no  means: — the  space  behind  the  surface  is 
impenetrable  to  my  sight,  touch,  or  any  of  my  senses. 

Spirit.  And  yet  thou  dost  assume  the  existence  of 
such  an  interior  substance,  which,  nevertheless,  thou 
canst  not  perceive? 

/.     I  confess  it,  and  my  astonishment  increases. 

Spirit.  What  then  is  this  something  which  thou 
imaginest  to  be  behind  the  surface? 

7.  Well — I  suppose  something  similar  to  the  sur- 
face,— something  tangible. 

Spirit.     We    must    ascertain    this    more    distinctly. 


48  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

Canst  thou  divide  the  mass  of  which  thou  imaginest 
the  body  to  consist  ? 

/.  I  can  divide  it  to  infinity ; — I  do  not  mean  with 
instruments,  but  in  thought.  No  possible  part  is  the 
smallest,  so  that  it  cannot  again  be  divided. 

Spirit.  And  in  this  division  dost  thou  ever  arrive  at 
a  portion  of  which  thou  canst  suppose  that  it  is  no 
longer  perceptible  in  itself  to  sight,  touch,  &c. ; —  in 
itself  I  say,  besides  being  imperceptible  to  thy  own 
particular  organs  of  sense? 

7.     By  no  means. 

Spirit.  Visible,  perceptible,  absolutely? — or  with 
certain  properties  of  colour,  smoothness,  roughness, 
and  the  like? 

/.  In  the  latter  way.  Nothing  is  visible  or  per- 
ceptible absolutely,  because  there  is  no  absolute  sense 
of  sight  or  touch. 

Spirit.  Then  thou  dost  but  spread  through  the 
whole  mass  thy  own  sensibility,  that  which  is  already 
familiar  to  thee, — visibility  as  coloured,  tangibility  as 
rough,  smooth,  or  the  like ;  and  after  all  it  is  this  sensi- 
bility itself  of  which  alone  thou  art  sensible  ?  Or  dost 
thou  find  it  otherwise? 

/.  By  no  means:  what  thou  sayest  follows  from 
what  I  have  already  understood  and  admitted. 

Spirit.  And  yet  thou  dost  perceive  nothing  behind 
the  surface,  and  hast  perceived  nothing  there? 

/.  Were  I  to  break  through  it,  I  should  perceive 
something. 

Spirit.  So  much  therefore  thou  knowest  before- 
hand. And  this  infinite  divisibility,  in  which,  as  thou 
maintainest,  thou  canst  never  arrive  at  anything  abso- 
lutely imperceptible,  thou  hast  never  carried  it  out,  nor 
canst  thou  do  so? 


BOOK  II.    KNOWLEDGE.  49 

/.     I  cannot  carry  it  out. 

Spirit.  To  a  sensation,  therefore,  which  thou  hast 
really  had,  thou  addest  in  imagination  another  which 
thou  hast  not  had  ? 

I.  I  am  sensible  only  of  that  which  I  attribute  to 
the  surface;  I  am  not  sensible  of  what  lies  behind  it, 
and  yet  I  assume  the  existence  of  something  there 
which  might  be  perceived.  Yes,  I  must  admit  what 
thou  sayest. 

Spirit.  And  the  actual  sensation  is  in  part  found 
to  correspond  with  what  thou  hast  thus  pre-supposed  ? 

I.  When  I  break  through  the  surface  of  a  body,  I 
do  indeed  find  beneath  it  something  perceptible,  as  I 
pre-supposed.  Yes,  I  must  admit  this  also. 

Spirit.  Partly,  however,  thou  hast  maintained  that 
there  is  something  beyond  sensation,  which  cannot  be- 
come apparent  to  any  actual  perception. 

/.  I  maintain,  that  were  I  to  divide  a  corporeal 
mass  to  infinity,  I  could  never  come  to  any  part  which 
is  in  itself  imperceptible ;  although  I  admit  that  I  can 
never  make  the  experiment, —  can  never  practically 
carry  out  the  division  of  a  corporeal  mass  to  infinity. 
Yes,  I  must  agree  with  thee  in  this  also. 

Spirit.  Thus  there  is  nothing  remaining  of  the 
object  but  what  is  perceptible, —  what  is  a  property  or 
attribute; — this  perceptibility  thou  extendest  through 
a  continuous  space  which  is  divisible  to  infinity;  and 
the  true  substratum  or  supporter  of  the  attributes  of 
things  which  thou  hast  sought  is,  therefore,  only  the 
space  which  is  thus  filled? 

/.  Although  I  cannot  be  satisfied  with  this,  but  feel 
that  I  must  still  suppose  in  the  object  something  more 
than  this  perceptibility  and  the  space  which  it  fills,  yet 
I  cannot  point  out  this  something,  and  I  must  there- 


SO  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

fore  confess  that  I  have  hitherto  been  unable  to  dis- 
cover any  substratum  but  space  itself. 

Spirit.  Always  confess  whatever  thou  perceivest  to 
be  true.  The  present  obscurities  will  gradually  be- 
come clear,  and  the  unknown  will  be  made  known. 
Space  itself,  however,  is  not  perceived ;  and  thou  canst 
not  understand  how  thou  hast  obtained  this  conception, 
or  why  thou  extendest  throughout  it  this  property  of 
perceptibility  ? 

/.     It  is  so. 

Spirit.  As  little  dost  thou  understand  how  thou  hast 
obtained  even  this  conception  of  a  perceptibility  out  of 
thyself,  since  thou  really  perceivest  only  thine  own 
sensation  in  thyself,  not  as  the  property  of  an  external 
thing,  but  as  an  affection  of  thine  own  being. 

/.  So  it  is.  I  see  clearly  that  I  really  perceive  only 
my  own  state,  and  not  the  object;  that  I  neither  see, 
feel,  nor  hear  this  object;  but  that,  on  the  contrary, 
precisely  there  where  the  object  should  be,  all  seeing, 
feeling,  and  so  forth,  comes  to  an  end. 

But  I  have  a  presentiment.  Sensations,  as  affec- 
tions of  myself,  have  no  extension  whatever,  but  are 
simple  states ;  in  their  differences  they  are  not  contigu- 
ous to  each  other  in  space,  but  successive  to  each  other 
in  time.  Nevertheless,  I  do  extend  them  in  space. 
May  it  not  be  by  means  of  this  extension,  and  simul- 
taneously with  it,  that  what  is  properly  only  my  own 
feeling  or  sensation  becomes  changed  for  me  into  a 
perceptible  something  out  of  myself ;  and  may  not  this 
be  the  precise  point  at  which  there  arises  within  me  a 
consciousness  of  the  external  object? 

Spirit.  This  conjecture  may  be  confirmed.  But 
could  we  raise  it  immediately  to  a  conviction,  we  should 
thereby  attain  to  no  complete  insight,  for  this  higher 


BOOK  II.    KNOWLEDGE.  51 

question  would  still  remain  to  be  answered, —  How 
dost  thou  first  come  to  extend  sensation  through  space  ? 
Let  us  then  proceed  at  once  to  this  question;  and  let 
us  propound  it  more  generally — I  have  my  reasons  for 
doing  so — in  the  following  manner : — How  is  it,  that, 
with  thy  consciousness,  which  is  but  an  immediate 
consciousness  of  thyself,  thou  proceedest  out  of  thy- 
self; and  to  the  sensation  which  thou  dost  perceive, 
superaddest  an  object  perceived  and  perceptible,  which 
yet  thou  dost  not  perceive  ? 


/.  Sweet  or  bitter,  fragrant  or  ill-scented,  rough  or 
smooth,  cold  or  warm, —  these  qualities,  when  applied 
to  things,  signify  whatever  excites  in  me  this  or  that 
taste,  smell,  or  other  sensation.  It  is  the  same  with 
respect  to  sounds.  A  relation  to  myself  is  always  in- 
dicated and  it  never  occurs  to  me  that  the  sweet  or 
bitter  taste,  the  pleasant  or  unpleasant  smell,  lies  in 
the  thing  itself; — it  lies  in  me,  and  it  only  appears  to 
be  excited  by  the  object.  It  seems  indeed  to  be  other- 
wise with  the  sensations  of  sight, — with  colours,  for 
example,  which  may  not  be  pure  sensations,  but  a  sort 
of  intermediate  affections ;  yet  when  we  consider  it 
strictly,  red,  and  the  others,  means  nothing  more  than 
what  produces  in  me  a  certain  sensation  of  sight. 
This  leads  me  to  understand  how  it  is  that  I  attain  to 
a  knowledge  of  things  out  of  myself.  I  am  affected 
in  a  particular  manner — this  I  know  absolutely; — this 
affection  must  have  a  foundation;  this  foundation  is 
not  in  myself  and  therefore  must  be  out  of  myself; — 
thus  I  reason  rapidly  and  unconsciously,  and  forth- 
with assume  the  existence  of  such  a  foundation, — 
namely,  the  object.  This  foundation  must  be  one  by 


52  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

which  the  particular  affection  in  question  may  be  ex- 
plained;— I  am  affected  in  the  manner  which  I  call  a 
sweet  taste,  the  object  must  therefore  be  of  a  kind  to 
excite  a  sweet  taste,  or  more  briefly,  must. itself  be 
sweet.  In  this  way  I  determine  the  character  of  the 
object. 

Spirit.  There  may  be  some  truth  in  what  thou  say- 
est,  although  it  is  not  the  whole  truth  which  might  be 
said  upon  the  subject.  How  this  stands  we  shall  un- 
doubtedly discover  in  due  time.  Since,  however,  it 
cannot  be  denied  that  in  other  cases  thou  dost  discover 
some  truth  by  means  of  this  principle  of  causality, — 
so  I  term  the  doctrine  which  thou  hast  just  asserted, 
that  everything  (in  this  case  thy  affection)  must  have 
a  foundation  or  cause, — since  this,  I  say,  cannot  be 
denied,  it  may  not  be  superfluous  to  learn  strictly  to 
understand  this  procedure,  and  to  make  it  perfectly 
clear  to  ourselves  what  it  is  thou  really  dost  when  thou 
adoptest  it.  Let  us  suppose,  in  the  meantime,  that  thy 
statement  is  perfectly  correct,  that  it  is  by  an  uncon- 
scious act  of  reasoning,  from  the  effect  to  the  cause, 
that  thou  first  comest  to  assume  the  existence  of  an 
outward  object; — what  then  was  it  which  thou  wert 
here  conscious  of  perceiving? 

/.     That  I  was  affected  in  a  certain  manner. 

Spirit.  But  of  an  object,  affecting  thee  in  a  certain 
manner,  thou  wert  not  conscious,  at  least  not  as  a  per- 
ception ? 

/.     By  no  means.     I  have  already  admitted  this. 

Spirit.  Then,  by  this  principle  of  causality,  thou 
addest  to  a  knowledge  which  thou  hast,  another  which 
thou  hast  not? 

/.     Thy  words  are  strange. 

Spirit.     Perhaps   I   may  succeed   in   removing  this 


BOOK  II.    KNOWLEDGE.  53 

strangeness.  But  let  my  words  appear  to  thee  as  they 
may.  They  ought  only  to  lead  thee  to  produce  in 
thine  own  mind  the  same  thought  that  I  have  produced 
in  mine ;  not  serve  thee  as  a  text-book  which  thou  hast 
only  to  repeat.  When  thou  hast  the  thought  itself 
firmly  and  clearly  in  thy  grasp,  then  express  it  as  thou 
wilt,  and  with  as  much  variety  as  thou  wilt,  and  be 
sure  that  thou  wilt  always  express  it  well. 

How,  and  by  what  means,  knowest  thou  of  this  af- 
fection of  thyself  ? 

/.  It  would  be  difficult  to  answer  thee  in  words : — 
Because  my  consciousness,  as  a  subjective  attribute,  as 
the  determination  of  my  being  in  so  far  as  I  am  an  in- 
telligence, proceeds  directly  upon  the  existence  of  this 
affection  as  its.  object,  as  that  of  which  I  am  conscious, 
and  is  inseparable  from  it; — because  I  am  possessed 
of  consciousness  at  all  only  in  so  far  as  I  am  cognisant 
of  such  an  affection — cognisant  of  it  absolutely,  just 
as  I  am  cognisant  of  my  own  existence. 

Spirit.  Thou  hast  therefore  an  organ, — conscious- 
ness itself, — whereby  thou  perceivest  such  an  affection 
of  thyself  ? 

/.     Yes. 

Spirit.  But  an  organ  whereby  thou  perceivest  the 
object  itself,  thou  hast  not? 

/.  Since  thou  hast  convinced  me  that  I  neither  see 
nor  feel  the  object  itself  nor  apprehend  it  by  any  ex- 
ternal sense,  I  find  myself  compelled  to  confess  that  I 
have  no  such  organ. 

Spirit.  Bethink  thee  well  of  this.  It  may  be  turned 
against  thee  that  thou  hast  made  me  this  admission. 
What  then  is  thy  external  sense  at  all,  and  how  canst 
thou  call  it  external,  if  it  have  no  reference  to  any  ex- 


54  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

ternal  object,  and  be  not  the  organ  whereby  thou  hast 
any  knowledge  of  such? 

/.  I  desire  truth,  and  trouble  myself  little  about 
what  may  be  turned  against  me.  I  distinguish  abso- 
lutely because  I  do  distinguish  them,  green,  sweet, 
red,  smooth,  bitter,  fragrant,  rough,  ill-scented,  the 
sound  of  a  violin  and  of  a  trumpet.  Among  these 
sensations  I  place  some  in  a  certain  relation  of  likeness 
to  each  other,  although  in  other  respects  I  distinguish 
them  from  each  other ;  thus  I  find  green  and  red,  sweet 
and  bitter,  rough  and  smooth,  &c.,  to  have  a  certain 
relation  of  similarity  to  each  other,  and  this  similarity 
I  feel  to  be  respectively  one  of  sight,  taste,  touch,  &c. 
Sight,  taste,  and  so  forth,  are  not  indeed  in  themselves 
actual  sensations,  for  I  never  see  or  feel  absolutely,  as 
thou  hast  previously  remarked,  but  always  see  red  or 
green,  taste  sweet  or  bitter,  &c.  Sight,  taste,  and  the 
like,  are  only  higher  definitions  of  actual  sensations; 
they  are  classes  to  which  I  refer  these  latter,  not  by 
arbitrary  arrangement,  but  guided  by  the  immediate 
sensation  itself.  I  see  in  them  therefore  not  external 
senses,  but  only  particular  definitions  of  the  objects  of 
the  inward  sense,  of  my  own  states  or  affections.  How 
they  become  external  senses,  or,  more  strictly  speak- 
ing, how  I  come  to  regard  them  as  such,  and  so  to 
name  them,  is  now  the  question.  I  do  not  take  back 
my  admission  that  I  have  no  organ  for  the  object 
itself. 

Spirit.  Yet  thou  speakest  of  objects  as  if  thou  didst 
really  know  of  their  existence,  and  hadst  an  organ  for 
such  knowledge? 

/.     Yes. 

Spirit.  And  this  thou  dost,  according  to  thy  previ- 
ous assumption,  in  consequence  of  the  knowledge 


BOOK  II.    KNOWLEDGE.  55 

which  thou  dost  really  possess,  and  for  which  thou 
hast  an  organ,  and  on  account  of  this  knowledge? 

/.     It  is  so. 

Spirit.  Thy  real  knowledge,  that  of  thy  sensations 
or  affections,  is  to  thee  like  an  imperfect  knowledge, 
which,  as  thou  sayest,  requires  to  be  completed  by 
another.  This  other  new  knowledge  thou  conceivest 
and  describest  to  thyself, — not  as  something  which 
thou  hast,  for  thou  hast  it  not, — but  as  something 
which  thou  shouldst  have,  over  and  above  thy  actual 
knowledge,  if  thou  hadst  an  organ  wherewith  to  ap- 
prehend it.  "  I  know  nothing  indeed,"  thou  seemest 
to  say,  "  of  things  in  themselves,  but  such  things  there 
must  be;  if  I  could  but  find  them,  they  are  to  be 
found."  Thou  supposest  another  organ,  which  indeed 
is  not  thine,  and  this  thou  employest  upon  them,  and 
thereby  apprehendest  them, — of  course  in  thought 
only.  Strictly  speaking,  thou  hast  no  consciousness  of 
things,  but  only  a  consciousness  (produced  by  a  pro- 
cession out  of  thy  actual  consciousness  by  means  of  the 
principal  of  casualty)  of  a  consciousness  of  things 
(such  as  ought  to  be,  such  as  of  necessity  must  be, 
although  not  accessible  to  thee) ;  and  now  thou  wilt 
perceive  that,  in  the  supposition  thou  hast  made,  thou 
hast  added  to  a  knowledge  which  thou  hast,  another 
which  thou  hast  not. 

/.     I  must  admit  this. 

Spirit.  Henceforward  let  us  call  this  second  knowl- 
edge, obtained  by  means  of  another,  mediate,  and  the 
first  immediate  knowledge.  A  certain  school  has 
called  this  procedure  which  we  have  to  some  extent 
described  above,  a  synthesis;  by  which  we  are  to  un- 
derstand not  a  con-ne.vion  established  between  two 
elements  previously  existing,  but  an  an-nexion,  and 


56  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

an  addition  of  a  wholly  new  element,  arising  through 
this  an-nexion,  to  another  element  previously  existing 
independently  of  such  addition. 


Thus  the  first  consciousness  appears  as  soon  as  thou 
discoverest  thy  own  existence,  and  the  latter  is  not 
discovered  without  the  former;  the  second  conscious- 
ness is  produced  in  thee  by  means  of  the  first. 

/.  But  not  successive  to  it  in  time;  for  I  am  con- 
scious of  external  things  at  the  very  same  undivided 
moment  in  which  I  become  conscious  of  myself. 

Spirit.  I  did  not  speak  of  such  a  succession  in  time 
at  all;  but  I  think  that  when  thou  reflectest  upon  that 
undivided  consciousness  of  thyself  and  of  the  external 
object,  distinguishest  between  them,  and  inquirest  into 
their  connexion,  thou  wilt  find  that  the  latter  can  be 
conceived  of  only  as  conditioned  by  the  former,  and 
as  only  possible  on  the  supposition  of  its  existence ;  but 
not  vice  versa. 

I.  So  I  find  it  to  be ;  and  if  that  be  all  thou  wouldst 
say,  I  admit  thy  assertion,  and  have  already  admit- 
ted it. 

Spirit.  Thou  engenderest,  I  say,  this  second  con- 
sciousness ;  producest  it  by  a  real  act  of  thy  mind.  Or 
dost  thou  find  it  otherwise? 

7.  I  have  surely  admitted  this  already.  I  add  to 
the  consciousness  which  is  simultaneous  with  that  of 
my  existence,  another  which  I  do  not  find  in  myself; 
I  thus  complete  and  double  my  actual  consciousness, 
and  this  is  certainly  an  act.  But  I  am  tempted  to  take 
back  either  my  admission,  or  else  the  whole  supposi- 
tion. I  am  perfectly  conscious  of  the  act  of  my  mind 
when  I  form  a  general  conception,  or  when  in  cases  of 


BOOK  II.    KNOWLEDGE.  57 

doubt  I  choose  one  of  the  many  possible  modes  of 
action  which  lie  before  me;  but  of  the  act  through 
which,  according  to  thy  assertion,  I  must  produce  the 
presentation  of  an  object  out  of  myself,  I  am  not  con- 
scious at  all. 

Spirit.  Do  not  be  deceived.  Of  an  act  of  thy  mind 
thou  canst  become  conscious  only  in  so  far  as  thou 
dost  pass  through  a  state  of  indetermination  and  inde- 
cision, of  which  thou  wert  likewise  conscious,  and  to 
which  this  act  puts  an  end.  There  is  no  such  state  of 
indecision  in  the  case  we  have  supposed ;  the  mind  has 
no  need  to  deliberate  what  object  it  shall  superadd  to 
its  particular  sensations, — it  is  done  at  once.  We  even 
find  this  distinction  in  philosophical  phraseology.  An 
act  of  the  mind,  of  which  we  are  conscious  as  such,  is 
called  freedom.  An  act  without  consciousness  of  ac- 
tion, is  called  spontaneity.  Remember  that  I  by  no 
means  demand  of  thee  an  immediate  consciousness  of 
the  act  as  such,  but  only  that  on  subsequent  reflection 
thou  shouldst  discover  that  there  must  have  been  an 
act.  The  higher  question,  what  it  is  that  prevents  any 
such  state  of  indecision,  or  any  consciousness  of  our 
act,  will  undoubtedly  be  afterwards  solved. 

This  act  of  the  mind  is  called  thought ;  a  word  which 
I  have  hitherto  employed  with  thy  concurrence ;  and  it 
is  said  that  thought  takes  place  with  spontaneity,  in 
opposition  to  sensation  which  is  mere  receptivity. 
How  is  it,  then,  that,  in  thy  previous  statement,  thou 
addest  in  thought  to  the  sensation  which  thou  certainly 
hast,  an  object  of  which  thou  knowest  nothing? 

I.  I  assume  that  my  sensation  must  have  a  cause, 
and  then  proceed  further, — 

Spirit.  Wilt  thou  not,  in  the  first  place,  explain  to 
me  what  is  a  cause? 


58  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

L  I  find  a  thing  determined  this  way  or  that.  I 
cannot  rest  satisfied  with  knowing  that  so  it  is; — it  has 
become  so,  and  that  not  by  itself,  but  by  means  of  a 
foreign  power.  This  foreign  power,  that  made  it  what 
it  is,  contains  the  cause,  and  the  manifestation  of  that 
power,  which  did  actually  make  it  so,  is  the  cause  of 
this  particular  determination  of  the  thing.  That  my 
sensation  must  have  a  cause,  means  that  it  is  produced 
within  me  by  a  foreign  power. 

Spirit  This  foreign  power  thou  now  addest  in 
thought  to  the  sensation  of  which  thou  art  immediately 
conscious,  and  thus  there  arises  in  thee  the  presenta- 
tion of  an  object?  Well, — let  it  be  so. 

Now  observe;  if  sensation  must  have  a  cause,  then 
I  admit  the  correctness  of  thy  inference;  and  I  see 
with  what  perfect  right  thou  assumest  the  existence  of 
objects  out  of  thyself,  notwithstanding  that  thou 
neither  knowest  nor  canst  know  aught  of  them.  But 
how  then  dost  thou  know,  and  how  dost  thou  propose 
to  prove,  that  sensation  must  have  a  cause?  Or,  in 
the  general  manner  in  which  thou  hast  stated  the 
proposition,  why  canst  thou  not  rest  satisfied  to  know 
that  something  isf  why  must  thou  assume  that  it  has 
become  so,  or  that  it  has  become  so  by  means  of  a 
foreign  power?  I  note  that  thou  hast  always  only 
assumed  this. 

/.  I  confess  it.  But  I  cannot  do  otherwise  than 
think  so.  It  seems  as  if  I  knew  it  immediately. 

Spirit.  What  this  answer,  "  thou  knowest  it  imme- 
diately," may  signify,  we  shall  see  should  we  be 
brought  back  to  it  as  the  only  possible  one.  We  will 
however  first  try  all  other  possible  methods  of  ascer- 
taining the  grounds  of  the  assertion  that  everything 
must  have  a  cause. 


BOOK  II.    KNOWLEDGE.  59 

Dost  thou  know  this  by  immediate  perception  ? 

/.  How  could  I?  since  perception  only  declares 
that  in  me  something  is,  according  as  I  am  determined 
this  way  or  that,  but  never  that  it  has  become  so;  still 
less  that  it  has  become  so  by  means  of  a  foreign  power 
lying  beyond  all  perception. 

Spirit.  Or  dost  thou  obtain  this  principle  by  gen- 
eralisation of  thy  observation  of  external  things,  the 
cause  of  which  thou  hast  always  discovered  out  of 
themselves ;  an  observation  which  thou  now  appliest  to 
thyself  and  to  thine  own  condition  ? 

/.  Do  not  treat  me  like  a  child,  and  ascribe  to  me 
palpable  absurdities.  By  the  principle  of  causality  I 
first  arrive  at  a  knowledge  of  things  out  of  myself; 
how  then  can  I  again,  by  observation  of  these  things, 
arrive  at  this  principle  itself.  Shall  the  earth  rest  on 
the  great  elephant,  and  the  great  elephant  again  upon 
the  earth  ? 

Spirit.  Or  is  this  principle  a  deduction  from  some 
other  general  truth? 

/.  Which  again  could  be  founded  neither  on  imme- 
diate perception,  nor  on  the  observation  of  external 
things,  and  concerning  the  origin  of  which  thou 
wouldst  still  raise  other  questions !  I  might  only  pos- 
sess this  previous  fundamental  truth  by  immediate 
knowledge.  Better  to  say  this  at  once  of  the  principle 
of  causality  and  let  thy  conjectures  rest. 

Spirit.  Let  it  be  so; — we  then  obtain  besides  the 
first  immediate  knowledge  of  our  own  states  through 
sensible  perception  a  second  immediate  knowledge  con- 
cerning a  general  truth  ? 

/.     So  it  appears. 

Spirit.  The  particular  knowledge  now  in  question, 
namely,  that  thy  affections  or  states  must  have  a  cause, 


60  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

is  entirely  independent  of  the  knowledge  of  things? 

/.  Certainly,  for  the  latter  is  obtained  only  by 
means  of  it. 

Spirit.     And  thou  hast  it  absolutely  in  thyself  ? 

/.  Absolutely,  for  only  by  means  of  it  do  I  first 
proceed  out  of  myself. 

Spirit.  Out  of  thyself  therefore,  and  through  thy- 
self, and  through  thine  own  immediate  knowledge, 
thou  prescribest  laws  to  being  and  its  relations? 

/.  Rightly  considered,  I  prescribe  laws  only  to  my 
own  presentations  of  being  and  its  relations,  and  it 
will  be  more  correct  to  make  use  of  this  expression. 

Spirit.  Be  it  so.  Art  thou  then  conscious  of  these 
laws  in  any  other  way  than  as  thou  dost  act  in  accord- 
ance with  them? 

/.  My  consciousness  begins  with  the  perception  of 
my  own  state;  I  connect  directly  therewith  the  pres- 
entation of  an  object  according  to  the  principle 
of  causality; — both  of  these,  the  consciousness  of  my 
own  state,  and  the  presentation  of  an  object,  are  in- 
separably united,  there  is  no  intervening  consciousness 
between  them,  and  this  one  undivided  consciousness 
is  preceded  by  no  other.  No,  it  is  impossible  that  I 
should  be  conscious  of  this  law  before  acting  in  ac- 
cordance with  it,  or  in  any  other  way  than  by  so  act- 
ing. 

Spirit.  Thou  actest  upon  this  law  therefore  with- 
out being  conscious  of  it;  thou  actest  upon  it  imme- 
diately and  absolutely.  Yet  thou  didst  but  now  de- 
clare thyself  conscious  of  it,  and  didst  express  it  as  a 
general  proposition.  How  hast  thou  arrived  at  this 
latter  consciousness? 

I-    Doubtless  thus.     I  observe  myself  subsequently, 


BOOK  II.    KNOWLEDGE.  61 

and  perceive  that  I  have  thus  acted,  and  combine  this 
ordinary  course  of  procedure  into  a  general  law. 

Spirit.  Thou  canst  therefore  become  conscious  of 
this  course  of  procedure? 

/.  Unquestionably, — I  guess  the  object  of  these 
questions.  This  is  the  above-mentioned  second  kind 
of  immediate  consciousness,  that  of  my  activity;  as 
the  first  is  sensation,  or  the  consciousness  of  my 
passivity. 

Spirit.  Right.  Thou  mayest  subsequently  become 
conscious  of  thine  own  acts,  by  free  observation  of 
thyself  and  by  reflection;  but  it  is  not  necessary  that 
thou  shouldst  become  so; — thou  dost  not  become  im- 
mediately conscious  of  them  at  the  moment  of  thy 
internal  act. 

/.  Yet  I  must  be  originally  conscious  of  them,  for 
I  am  immediately  conscious  of  my  presentation  of  the 
object  at  the  same  moment  that  I  am  conscious  of  the 
sensation. — I  have  found  the  solution;  I  am  immedi- 
ately conscious  of  my  act  only  not  as  such;  but  it 
moves  before  me  as  an  objective  reality.  This  con- 
sciousness is  a  consciousness  of  the  object.  Subse- 
quently by  free  reflection  I  may  also  become  conscious 
of  it  as  an  act  of  my  own  mind. 

My  immediate  consciousness  is  composed  of  two  ele- 
ments : — the  consciousness  of  my  passivity,  i.  e.,  sensa- 
tion;— and  of  my  activity,  in  the  creation  of  an  object 
according  to  the  law  of  causality ; — the  latter  conscious- 
ness connecting  itself  immediately  with  the  former. 
My  consciousness  of  the  object  is  only  a  yet  unrecog- 
nised consciousness  of  my  creation  of  a  presentation  of 
an  object.  I  am  cognisant  of  this  creation  only  be- 
cause I  myself  am  the  creator.  And  thus  all  con- 
sciousness is  immediate,  is  but  a  consciousness  of  my- 


62  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

self,  and  therefore  perfectly  comprehensible.  Am  I  in 
the  right? 

Spirit.  Perfectly  so;  but  whence  then  the  necessity 
and  universality  thou  hast  ascribed  to  thy  principles ; — 
in  this  case  to  the  principle  of  causality? 

/.  From  the  immediate  feeling  that  I  cannot  act 
otherwise,  as  surely  as  I  have  reason;  and  that  no 
other  reasonable  being  can  act  otherwise,  as  surely  as 
it  is  a  reasonable  being.  My  proposition, — "  All  that 
is  contingent,  such  as  in  this  case  my  sensation,  must 
have  a  cause," — means  the  following :  "  I  have  at  all 
times  rpre-sup  posed  a  cause,  and  every  one  who  thinks 
will  likewise  be  constrained  to  pre-suppose  a  cause" 

Spirit.  Thou  perceivest  then  that  all  knowledge  is 
merely  a  knowledge  of  thyself;  that  thy  consciousness 
never  goes  beyond  thyself;  and  that  what  thou  as- 
sumest  to  be  a  consciousness  of  the  object  is  nothing 
but  a  consciousness  of  thine  own  supposition  of  an 
object,  which,  according  to  an  inward  law  of  thy 
thought,  thou  dost  necessarily  make  simultaneously 
with  the  sensation  itself. 


7.  Proceed  boldly  with  thy  inferences ; — I  have  not 
interrupted  thee,  I  have  even  helped  thee  in  the  devel- 
opment of  these  conclusions.  But  now,  seriously,  I 
retract  my  whole  previous  position,  that  by  means  of 
the  principle  of  causality  I  arrive  at  the  knowledge 
of  external  things;  and  I  did  indeed  inwardly  retract 
it  as  soon  as  it  led  us  into  serious  error. 

In  this  way  I  could  become  conscious  only  of  a 
mere  power  out  of  myself,  and  of  this  only  as  a  con- 
ception of  my  own  mind,  just  as  for  the  explanation 
of  magentic  phenomena,  I  suppose  a  magnetic — or  for 


BOOK  II.    KNOWLEDGE.  63 

the  explanation  of  electrical  phenomena,  an  electrical — 
power  in  Nature. 

But  the  world  does  not  appear  to  me  such  a  mere 
thought, — the  thought  of  a  mere  power.  It  is  some- 
thing extended,  something  which  is  thoroughly  tangi- 
ble, not  like  a  mere  power,  through  its  manifestations, 
but  in  itself; — it  does  not,  like  this,  merely  produce, 
it  has  qualities ; — I  am  inwardly  conscious  of  my  ap- 
prehension of  it,  in  a  manner  quite  different  from  my 
consciousness  of  mere  thought; — it  appears  to  me  as 
perception,  although  it  has  been  proved  that  it  cannot 
be  such;  and  it  would  be  difficult  for  me  to  describe 
this  kind  of  consciousness,  and  to  distinguish  it  from 
the  other  kinds  of  which  we  have  spoken. 

Spirit.  Thou  must  nevertheless  attempt  such  a  de- 
scription, otherwise  I  shall  not  understand  thee,  and 
we  shall  never  arrive  at  clearness. 

/.  I  will  attempt  to  open  a  way  towards  it.  I  be- 
seech thee,  O  Spirit!  if  thy  organ  of  sight  be  like 
mine,  to  fix  thine  eye  on  the  red  object  before  us,  to 
surrender  thyself  unreservedly  to  the  impression  pro- 
duced by  it,  and  to  forget  meanwhile  thy  previous 
conclusions; — and  now  tell  me  candidly  what  takes 
place  in  thy  mind. 

Spirit.  I  can  completely  place  myself  in  thy  posi- 
tion ;  and  it  is  no  purpose  of  mine  to  disown  any  im- 
pression which  has  an  actual  existence.  But  tell  me, 
what  is  the  effect  you  anticipate? 

/.  Dost  thou  not  perceive  and  apprehend  at  a  single 
glance,  the  surface? — I  say  the  surface, — does  it  not 
stand  there  present  before  thee,  entire  and  at  once? — 
art  thou  conscious,  even  in  the  most  distant  and  ob- 
scure way,  of  this  extension  of  a  simple  red  point 
to  a  line,  and  of  this  line  to  a  surface,  of  which  thou 


64  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

hast  spoken?  It  is  an  after-thought  to  divide  this 
surface,  and  conceive  of  its  points  and  lines.  Wouldst 
thou  not,  and  would  not  every  one  who  impartially 
observes  himself,  maintain  and  insist,  notwithstanding 
thy  former  conclusions,  that  he  really  saw  a  surface 
of  such  or  such  a  colour? 

Spirit.  I  admit  all  this ;  and  on  examining  myself, 
I  find  that  it  is  exactly  so  as  thou  hast  described. 

But,  in  the  first  place,  hast  thou  forgotten  that  it  is 
not  our  object  to  relate  to  each  other  what  presents 
itself  in  consciousness,  as  in  a  journal  of  the  human 
mind,  but  to  consider  its  various  phenomena  in  their 
connexion,  and  to  explain  them  by,  and  deduce  them 
from,  each  other;  and  that  consequently  none  of  thy 
observations,  which  certainly  cannot  be  denied,  but 
which  must  be  explained,  can  overturn  any  one  of  my 
just  conclusions. 

7.     I  shall  never  lose  sight  of  this. 

Spirit.  Then  do  not  in  the  remarkable  resemblance 
of  this  consciousness  of  bodies  out  of  thyself,  which 
yet  thou  canst  not  describe,  to  real  perception,  over- 
look the  great  difference  nevertheless  existing  between 
them. 

7.  I  was  about  to  mention  this  difference.  Each 
indeed  appears  as  an  immediate,  not  as  an  acquired  or 
produced  consciousness.  But  sensation  is  conscious- 
ness of  my  own  state.  Not  so  the  consciousness  of  the 
object  itself,  which  has  absolutely  no  reference  to  me. 
I  know  that  it  is,  and  this  is  all;  it  does  not  concern 
me.  If,  in  the  first  case,  I  seem  like  a  soft  strain  of 
music  which  is  modulated  now  in  this  way  now  in 
that,  in  the  other,  I  appear  like  a  mirror  before  which 
objects  pass  without  producing  the  slightest  change 
in  it. 


BOOK  II.    KNOWLEDGE.  65 

This  distinction  however  is  in  my  favour.  Just  so 
much  the  more  do  I  seem  to  have  a  distinct  conscious- 
ness of  an  existence  out  of  myself,  entirely  independ- 
ent of  the  sense  of  my  own  state  of  being; — of  an 
existence  out  of  myself,  I  say — for  this  differs  alto- 
gether in  kind  from  the  consciousness  of  my  own  in- 
ternal states. 

Spirit.  Thou  observest  well — but  do  not  rush  too 
hastily  to  a  conclusion.  If  that  whereon  we  have  al- 
ready agreed  remains  true,  and  thou  canst  be  imme- 
diately conscious  of  thyself  only;  if  the  consciousness 
now  in  question  be  not  a  consciousness  of  thine  own 
passivity,  and  still  less  a  consciousness  of  thine  own 
activity; — may  it  not  then  be  an  unrecognised  con- 
sciousness of  thine  own  being? — of  thy  being  in  so 
far  as  thou  art  a  knowing  being, — an  Intelligence? 

7.  I  do  not  understand  thee;  but  help  me  once 
more,  for  I  wish  to  understand  thee. 

Spirit.  I  must  then  demand  thy  whole  attention, 
for  I  am  here  compelled  to  go  deeper,  and  expatiate 
more  widely,  than  ever. What  art  thou  ? 

/.  To  answer  thy  question  in  the  most  general 
way, — I  am  I,  myself. 

Spirit.  I  am  well  satisfied  with  this  answer.  What 
dost  thou  mean  when  thou  sayest  "  I  " ; — what  lies  in 
this  conception, — and  how  dost  thou  attain  it? 

/.  On  this  point  I  can  make  myself  understood 
only  by  contrast.  External  existence — the  thing,  is 
something  out  of  me,  the  cognitive  being.  7  am  my- 
self this  cognitive  being,  one  with  the  object  of  my 
cognition.  As  to  my  consciousness  of  the  former, 
there  arises  the  question, — Since  the  thing  cannot  know 
itself,  how  can  a  knowledge  of  it  arise? — how  can  a 
consciousness  of  the  thing  arise  in  me,  since  I  myself 


66  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

am  not  the  thing,  nor  any  of  its  modes  or  forms,  and 
all  these  modes  and  forms  lie  within  the  circle  of 
its  own  being,  and  by  no  means  in  mine?  How  does 
the  thing  reach  me?  What  is  the  tie  between  me, 
the  subject,  and  the  thing  which  is  the  object  of  my 
knowledge?  But  as  to  my  consciousness  of  myself, 
there  can  be  no  such  question.  In  this  case,  I  have 
my  knowledge  within  myself,  for  I  am  intelligence. 
What  I  am,  I  know  because  I  am  it ;  and  that  whereof 
I  know  immediately  that  I  am  it,  that  I  am  because 
I  immediately  know  it.  There  is  here  no  need  of  any 
tie  between  subject  and  object;  my  own  nature  is 
this  tie.  I  am  subject  and  object: — and  this  subject- 
objectivity,  this  return  of  knowledge  upon  itself,  is 
what  I  mean  by  the  term  "  I,"  when  I  deliberately  at- 
tach a  definite  meaning  to  it. 

Spirit.  Thus  it  is  in  the  identity  of  subject  and 
object  that  thy  nature  as  an  intelligence  consists? 

7.     Yes. 

Spirit.  Canst  thou  then  comprehend  the  possibility 
of  thy  becoming  conscious  of  this  identity,  which  is 
neither  subject  nor  object,  but  which  lies  at  the  founda- 
tion of  both,  and  out  of  which  both  arise? 

/.  By  no  means.  It  is  the  condition  of  all  my 
consciousness,  that  the  conscious  being,  and  what  he 
is  conscious  of,  appear  distinct  and  separate.  I  can- 
not even  conceive  of  any  other  consciousness.  In  the 
very  act  of  recognising  myself,  I  recognise  myself  as 
subject  and  object,  both  however  being  immediately 
bound  up  with  each  other. 

Spirit.  Canst  thou  become  conscious  of  the  mo- 
ment in  which  this  inconceivable  one  separated  itself 
into  these  two? 

/.     How  can   I,   since  my  consciousness   first  be- 


BOOK  II.    KNOWLEDGE.  67 

comes  possible  in  and  through  their  separation, — since 
it  is  my  consciousness  itself  that  thus  separates  them? 
Beyond  consciousness  itself  there  is  no  consciousness. 

Spirit.  It  is  this  separation,  then,  that  thou  neces- 
sarily recognisest  in  becoming  conscious  of  thyself? 
In  this  thy  very  original  being  consists  ? 

/.     So  it  is. 

Spirit.     And  on  what  then  is  it  founded? 

7.  I  am  intelligence,  and  have  consciousness  in 
myself.  This  separation  is  the  condition  and  result 
of  consciousness.  It  has  its  foundation,  therefore,  in 
myself,  like  consciousness. 

Spirit.  Thou  art  intelligence,  thou  sayest,  at  least 
this  is  all  that  is  now  in  question,  and  as  such  thou 
becomest  an  object  to  thyself.  Thy  knowledge,  there- 
fore in  its  objective  capacity,  presents  itself  before 
thyself,  i.  e.  before  thy  knowledge  in  its  subjective 
capacity;  and  floats  before  it,  but  without  thou  thy- 
self being  conscious  of  such  a  presentation  ? 

/.     So  it  is. 

Spirit.  Canst  thou  not  then  adduce  some  more  ex- 
act characteristics  of  the  subjective  and  objective  ele- 
ments as  they  appear  in  consciousness? 

7.  The  subjective  appears  to  contain  within  itself 
the  foundation  of  consciousness  as  regards  its  form, 
but  by  no  means  as  regards  its  substance.  That  there 
is  a  consciousness,  an  inward  perception  and  concep- 
tion,— of  this  the  foundation  lies  in  itself ;  but  that  pre- 
cisely this  or  that  is  conceived, — in  this  it  is  dependent 
on  the  objective,  with  which  it  is  conjoined  and  by 
which  it  is  likewise  borne  along.  The  objective,  on 
the  contrary,  contains  the  foundation  of  its  being  with- 
in itself;  it  is  in  and  for  itself, — it  is,  as  it  is,  because 
it  is  The  subjective  appears  as  the  still  and  passive 


68  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

mirror  of  the  objective;  the  latter  floats  before  it. 
That  the  former  should  reflect  images  generally,  lies 
in  itself.  That  precisely  this  image  and  none  other 
should  be  reflected,  depends  on  the  latter. 

Spirit.  The  subjective,  then,  according  to  its  es- 
sential nature,  is  precisely  so  constituted  as  thou  hast 
previously  described  thy  consciousness  of  an  existence 
out  of  thyself  to  be  ? 

7.  It  is  true,  and  this  agreement  is  remarkable.  I 
begin  to  believe  it  half  credible,  that  out  of  the  in- 
ternal laws  of  my  own  consciousness  may  proceed 
even  the  presentation  of  an  existence  out  of  myself, 
and  independent  of  me ;  and  that  this  presentation  may 
at  bottom  be  nothing  more  than  the  presentation  of 
these  laws  themselves. 

Spirit.     And  why  only  half  credible? 

/.  Because  I  do  not  yet  see  why  precisely  such  a 
presentation — a  presentation  of  a  mass  extended 
through  space — should  arise. 

Spirit.  Thou  hast  already  seen  that  it  is  only  thine 
own  sensation  which  thou  extendest  through  space; 
and  thou  hast  had  some  forebodings  that  it  is  by  this 
extension  in  space  alone  that  thy  sensation  becomes 
transformed  for  thee  into  something  sensible.  We 
have  therefore  to  do  at  present  only  with  space  itself, 
and  to  explain  its  origin  in  consciousness. 

/.     So  it  is. 

Spirit.  Let  us  then  make  the  attempt.  I  know  that 
thou  canst  not  become  conscious  of  thy  intelligent 
activity  as  such,  in  so  far  as  it  remains  in  its  original 
and  unchangeable  unity; — i.  e.  in  the  condition  which 
begins  with  thy  very  being,  and  can  never  be  destroyed 
without  at  the  same  time  destroying  that  being; — ana 
such  a  consciousness  therefore  I  do  not  ascribe  to  thee, 


BOOK  II.    KNOWLEDGE.  69 

But  thou  canst  become  conscious  of  it  in  so  far  as  it 
passes  from  one  state  of  transition  to  another  within 
the  limits  of  this  unchangeable  unity.  When  thou 
dost  represent  it  to  thyself  in  the  performance  of  this 
function,  how  does  it  appear  to  thee — this  internal 
spiritual  activity? 

/.  My  spiritual  faculty  appears  as  if  in  a  state 
of  internal  motion,  swiftly  passing  from  one  point  to 
another; — in  short,  as  an  extended  line.  A  definite 
thought  makes  a  point  in  this  line. 

Spirit.     And  why  as  an  extended  line? 

/.  Can  I  give  a  reason  for  that  beyond  the  circle 
of  which  I  cannot  go  without  at  the  same  time  over- 
stepping the  limits  of  my  own  existence?  It  is  so, 
absolutely. 

Spirit.  Thus,  then,  does  a  particular  act  of  thy 
consciousness  appear  to  thee.  But  what  shape  then 
is  assumed,  not  by  thy  produced,  but  by  thy  inherited, 
knowledge,  of  which  all  specific  thought  is  but  the 
revival  and  farther  definition? — how  does  this  present 
itself  to  thee?  Under  what  image  does  it  appear? 

/.  Evidently  as  something  in  which  one  may  draw 
lines  and  make  points  in  all  directions,  namely,  as 
space. 

Spirit.  Now  then,  it  will  be  entirely  clear  to  thee, 
how  that,  which  really  proceeds  from  thyself,  may 
nevertheless,  appear  to  thee  as  an  existence  external 
to  thyself, — nay,  must  necessarily  appear  so. 

Thou  hast  penetrated  to  the  true  source  of  the  pres- 
entation of  things  out  of  thyself.  This  presentation  is 
not  perception,  for  thou  perceivest  thyself  only ; — as 
little  is  it  thought,  for  things  do  not  appear  to  thee 
as  mere  results  of  thought.  It  is  an  actual,  and  in- 
deed absolute  and  immediate  consciousness  of  an  exist- 


70  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

ence  out  of  thyself,  just  as  perception  is  an  immediate 
consciousness  of  thine  own  condition.  Do  not  permit 
thyself  to  be  perplexed  by  sophists  and  half-philoso- 
phers; things  do  not  appear  to  thee  through  any  rep- 
resentation;— of  the  thing  that  exists,  and  that  can 
exist,  thou  art  immediately  conscious; — and  there  is 
no  other  thing  than  that  of  which  thou  art  conscious. 
Thou  thyself  art  the  thing;  thou  thyself,  by  virtue  of 
thy  finitude — the  innermost  law  of  thy  being — art  thus 
presented  before  thyself,  and  projected  out  of  thyself; 
and  all  that  thou  perceivest  out  of  thyself  is  still — 
thyself  only.  This  consciousness  has  been  well  named 
INTUITION.  In  all  consciousness  I  contemplate  my- 
self, for  I  am  myself: — to  the  subjective,  conscious 
being,  consciousness  is  self-contemplation.  And  the 
objective,  that  which  is  contemplated  and  of  which  I 
am  conscious,  is  also  myself, — the  same  self  which  con- 
templates, but  now  floating  as  an  objective  presenta- 
tion before  the  subjective.  In  this  respect,  conscious- 
ness is  an  active  retrospect  of  my  own  intuitions;  an 
observation  of  myself  from  my  own  position;  a  pro- 
jection of  myself  out  of  myself  by  means  of  the  only 
mode  of  action  which  is  properly  mine, — perception. 
I  am  a  living  faculty  of  vision.  I  see  (consciousness) 
my  own  vision  ( the  thing  of  zvhich  I  am  conscious. ) 

Hence  this  object  is  also  thoroughly  transparent  fo 
thy  mind's  eye,  because  it  is  thy  mind  itself.  Thou 
dividest,  limitest,  determinest,  the  possible  forms  of 
things,  and  the  relations  of  these  forms,  previous  to  all 
perception.  No  wonder, — for  in  so  doing  thou  divid- 
est, limitest,  and  determinest  thine  own  knowledge, 
which  undoubtedly  is  sufficiently  known  to  thee.  Thus 
does  a  knowledge  of  things  become  possible.  It  is  not 
in  the  things,  and  cannot  proceed  out  of  them.  It 


BOOK  II.    KNOWLEDGE.  71 

proceeds  from  thee,  and  is  indeed  thine  own  nature. 

There  is  no  outward  sense,  for  there  is  no  outward 
perception.  There  is,  however,  an  outward  intui- 
tion;— not  of  things,  but  this  outward  intuition — this 
knowledge  apparently  external  to  the  subjective  be- 
ing, and  hovering  before  it, — is  itself  the  thing,  and 
there  is  no  other.  ,By  means  of  this  outward  intuition 
are  perception  and  sense  regarded  as  external.  It  re- 
mains eternally  true,  for  it  is  proved, — that  I  see  or 
feel  a  surface, — my  sight  or  feeling  takes  the  shape 
of  the  sight  or  feeling  of  a  surface.  Space, — illumina- 
ted, transparent,  palpable,  penetrable  space, — the  pur- 
est image  of  my  knowledge,  is  not  seen,  but  is  an 
intuitive  possession  of  my  own  mind ;  in  it  even  my 
faculty  of  vision  itself  is  contained.  The  light  is  not 
out  of,  but  in  me,  and  I  myself  am  the  light.  Thou 
hast  already  answered  my  question,  "  How  dost  thou 
know  of  thy  sensations,  of  thy  seeing,  feeling,  &c.  ?  " 
by  saying  that  thou  hast  an  immediate  knowledge  or 
consciousness  of  them.  Now,  perhaps,  thou  wilt  be 
able  to  define  more  exactly  this  immediate  conscious- 
ness of  sensation. 

/.  It  must  be  a  two-fold  consciousness.  Sensation 
is  itself  an  immediate  consciousness ;  for  I  am  sensible 
of  my  own  sensation.  But  from  this  there  arises  no 
knowledge  of  outward  existence,  but  only  the  feeling 
of  my  own  state.  I  am,  however,  originally,  not 
merely  a  sensitive,  but  also  an  intuitive  being;  not 
merely  a  practical  being,  but  also  an  intelligence.  I 
intuitively  contemplate  my  sensation  itself,  and  thus 
there  arises  from  myself  and  my  own  nature,  the  cog- 
nition of  an  existence.  Sensation  becomes  trans- 
formed into  its  own  object;  my  affections,  as  red, 
smooth,  and  the  like,  into  a  something  red,  smooth, 


72  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

&c.  out  of  myself;  and  this  something,  and  my  rela- 
tive sensation,  I  intuitively  contemplate  in  space,  be- 
cause the  intuition  itself  is  space.  Thus  does  it  be- 
come clear  why  I  believe  that  I  see  or  feel  surfaces, 
which,  in  fact,  I  neither  see  nor  feel.  I  intuitively  re- 
gard my  own  sensation  of  sight  or  touch,  as  the  sight 
or  touch  of  a  surface. 

Spirit.  Thou  hast  well  understood  me,  or  rather 
thyself.  

I.  But  now  it  is  not  at  all  by  means  of  an  inference, 
either  recognised  or  unrecognised,  from  the  principle  of 
causality,  that  the  thing  is  originated  for  me;  it  floats 
immediately  before  me,  and  is  presented  to  my  con- 
sciousness without  any  process  of  reasoning.  I  can- 
not say,  as  I  have  formerly  said,  that  perception 
becomes  transformed  into  a  something  perceivable,  for 
the  perceivable,  as  such,  has  precedence  in  conscious- 
ness. It  is  not  with  an  affection  of  myself,  as  red, 
smooth,  or  the  like,  that  consciousness  begins,  but 
with  a  red,  smooth  object  out  of  myself. 

Spirit.  If,  however,  thou  wert  obliged  to  explain 
what  is  red,  smooth,  and  the  like,  couldst  thou  possibly 
make  any  other  reply  than  that  it  was  that  by  which 
thou  wert  affected  in  a  certain  manner  that  thou 
namest  red,  smooth,  &c.  ? 

/.  Certainly  not, — if  you  were  to  ask  me,  and  I 
were  to  enter  upon  the  question  and  attempt  an  ex- 
planation. But  originally  no  one  asks  me  the  question, 
nor  do  I  ask  it  of  myself.  I  forget  myself  entirely, 
and  lose  myself  in  my  intuition  of  the  object;  become 
conscious,  not  of  my  own  state,  but  only  of  an  exist- 
ence out  of  myself.  Red,  green,  and  the  like,  are 
properties  of  the  thing ;  it  is  red  or  green,  and  this 


BOOK  II.    KNOWLEDGE.  73 

is  all.  There  can  be  no  farther  explanation,  any  more 
than  there  can  be  a  farther  explanation  of  these  af- 
fections in  me,  on  which  we  have  already  agreed. 
This  is  most  obvious  in  the  sensation  of  sight.  Colour 
appears  as  something  out  of  myself ;  and  the  common 
understanding  of  man,  if  left  to  itself,  and  without 
farther  reflection,  would  scarcely  be  persuaded  to  de- 
scribe red,  green,  &c.  as  that  which  excited  within  him 
a  specific  affection. 

Spirit.  But,  doubtless,  it  would  if  asked  regarding 
sweet  or  sour.  It  is  not  our  business  at  present  to 
inquire  whether  the  impression  made  by  means  of 
sight  be  a  pure  sensation,  or  whether  it  may  not 
rather  be  a  middle  term  between  sensation  and  intui- 
tion, and  the  bone  by  which  they  are  united  in  our 
minds.  But  I  admit  thy  assertion,  and  it  is  extremely 
welcome  to  me.  Thou  canst,  indeed,  lose  thyself  in 
the  intuition;  and  unless  thou  directest  particular  at- 
tention to  thyself,  or  takest  an  interest  in  some  external 
action,  thou  dost  so,  naturally  and  necessarily.  This 
is  the  remark  to  which  the  defenders  of  a  groundless 
consciousness  of  external  things  appeal,  when  it  is 
shown  that  the  principle  of  causality,  by  which  the 
existence  of  such  things  might  be  inferred,  exists  only 
in  ourselves;  they  deny  that  any  such  inference  is 
made,  and,  in  so  far  as  they  refer  to  actual  conscious- 
ness in  particular  cases,  this  cannot  be  disputed. 
These  same  defenders,  when  the  nature  of  intuition  is 
explained  to  them  from  the  laws  of  intelligence  itself, 
themselves  draw  this  inference  anew,  and  never  weary 
of  repeating  that  there  must  be  something  external 
to  us  which  compels  us  to  this  belief. 

/.     Do  not  trouble  thyself  about  them  at  present, 


74  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

but  instruct  me.  I  have  no  preconceived  opinion,  and 
seek  for  truth  only. 

Spirit.  Nevertheless,  intuition  necessarily  proceeds 
from  the  perception  of  thine  own  state,  although  thou 
art  not  always  clearly  conscious  of  this  perception,  as 
thou  hast  already  seen.  Even  in  that  consciousness 
in  which  thou  losest  thyself  in  the  object,  there  is 
always  something  which  is  only  possible  by  means  of 
an  unrecognised  reference  to  thyself,  and  close  ob- 
servation of  thine  own  state. 

7.  Consequently,  at  all  times  and  places  the  con- 
sciousness of  existence  out  of  myself  must  be  accom- 
panied by  an  unobserved  consciousness  of  myself? 

Spirit.     Just  so. 

I.  The  former  being  determined  through  the  lat- 
ter,— as  it  actually  is? 

Spirit.     That  is  my  meaning. 

/.     Prove  this  to  me,  and  I  shall  be  satisfied. 

Spirit.  Dost  thou  imagine  only  things  in  general 
as  placed  in  space,  or  each  of  them  individually  as 
occupying  a  certain  portion  of  space? 

/.     The  latter, — each  thing  has  its  determinate  bulk. 

Spirit.  And  do  different  things  occupy  the  same 
part  of  space? 

/.  By  no  means;  they  exclude  each  other.  They 
are  beside,  over  or  under,  behind,  or  before,  each 
other ; — nearer  to  me,  or  further  from  me. 

Spirit.  And  how  dost  thou  come  to  this  measure- 
ment and  arrangement  of  them  in  space?  Is  it  by 
sensation  ? 

/.  How  could  that  be,  since  space  itself  is  no  sen- 
sation ? 

Spirit.     Or  intuition? 

/.     This  cannot  be.     Intuition  is  immediate  and  in- 


BOOK  //.    KNOWLEDGE.  75 

fallible.  What  is  contained  in  it  does  not  appear  as 
produced,  and  cannot  deceive.  But  I  must  train  my- 
self to  estimate,  measure  and  deliberate  upon,  the  size 
of  an  object,  its  distance,  its  position  with  respect  to 
other  objects.  It  is  a  truth  known  to  every  beginner, 
that  we  originally  see  all  objects  in  the  same  line; 
that  we  learn  to  estimate  their  greater  or  lesser  dis- 
tances; that  the  child  attempts  to  grasp  distant  ob- 
jects as  if  they  lay  immediately  before  his  eyes;  and 
that  one  born  blind  who  should  suddenly  receive  sight 
would  do  the  same.  This  conception  of  distances  is 
therefore  a  judgment; — no  intuition,  but  an  arrange- 
ment of  my  different  intuitions  by  means  of  the  under- 
standing. I  may  err  in  my  estimate  of  the  size,  dis- 
tance, &c.  of  an  object;  and  the  so-called  optical  de- 
ceptions are  not  deceptions  of  sight,  but  erroneous 
judgments  formed  concerning  the  size  of  the  object, 
concerning  the  size  of  its  different  parts  in  relation  to 
each  other,  and  consequently  concerning  its  true  fig- 
ure and  its  distance  from  me  and  from  other  objects. 
But  it  does  really  exist  in  space,  as  I  contemplate  it, 
and  the  colours  which  I  see  in  it  are  likewise  really 
seen  by  me ; — and  here  there  is  no  deception. 

Spirit.  And  what  then  is  the  principle  of  this  judg- 
ment,— to  take  the  most  distinct  and  easy  case, — thy 
judgment  of  the  proximity  or  distance  of  objects, — 
how  dost  thou  estimate  this  distance? 

/.  Doubtless  by  the  greater  strength  or  feebleness 
of  impressions  otherwise  equal.  I  see  before  me  two 
objects  of  the  same  red  colour.  The  one  whose  colour 
I  see  more  vividly,  I  regard  as  the  nearer:  that  whose 
colour  seems  to  me  fainter,  as  the  more  distant,  and 
as  so  much  the  more  distant  as  the  colour  seems 
fainter, 


76  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

Spirit.  Thus  thou  dost  estimate  the  distance  ac- 
cording to  the  degree  of  strength  or  weakness  in  the 
sensation;  and  this  strength  or  weakness  itself, — dost 
thou  also  estimate  it? 

/.  Obviously  only  in  so  far  as  I  take  note  of  my 
own  affections,  and  even  of  very  slight  differences  in 
these. — Thou  hast  conquered!  All  consciousness  of 
objects  out  of  myself  is  determined  by  the  clearness 
and  exactitude  of  my  consciousness  of  my  own  states, 
and  in  this  consciousness  there  is  always  a  conclusion 
drawn  from  the  effect  in  myself  to  a  cause  out  of  my- 
self. 

Spirit.  Thou  art  quickly  vanquished;  and  I  must 
now  myself  carry  forward,  in  thy  place,  the  contro- 
versy against  myself.  My  argument  can  only  apply 
to  those  cases  in  which  an  actual  and  deliberate  esti- 
mate of  the  size,  distance,  and  position,  of  objects 
takes  place,  and  in  which  thou  art  conscious  of  mak- 
ing such  an  estimate.  Thou  wilt  however  admit  that 
this  is  by  no  means  the  common  case,  and  that  for 
the  most  part  thou  rather  becomest  conscious  of  the 
size,  distance,  &c.  of  an  object  at  the  very  same  undi- 
vided moment  in  which  thou  becomest  conscious  of 
the  object  itself. 

7.  When  once  we  learn  to  estimate  the  distances 
of  objects  by  the  strength  of  the  impression,  the  rapid- 
ity of  this  judgment  is  merely  the  consequence  of  its 
frequent  exercise.  I  have  learnt,  by  a  lifelong  experi- 
ence, rapidly  to  observe  the  strength  of  the  impression 
and  thereby  to  estimate  the  distance.  My  present  con- 
ception is  founded  upon  a  combination,  formerly  made, 
of  sensation,  intuition,  and  previous  judgments;  al- 
though at  the  moment  I  am  conscious  only  of  the 
present  conception.  I  no  longer  apprehend  generally 


BOOK  II.    KNOWLEDGE.  77 

red,  green,  or  the  like,  out  of  myself,  but  a  red  or  a 
green  at  this,  that,  or  the  other  distance;  but  this  last 
addition  is  merely  a  renewal  of  a  judgment  formerly 
arrived  at  by  deliberate  reflection. 

Spirit.  Has  it  not  then,  at  length,  become  clear  to 
thee  whether  thou  discoverest  the  existence  of  things 
out  of  thyself  by  intuition,  or  by  reasoning,  or  both, — 
and  in  how  far  by  each  of  these? 

/.  Perfectly;  and  I  believe  that  I  have  now  at- 
tained the  fullest  insight  into  the  origin  of  my  con- 
ceptions of  objects  out  of  myself. 

1.  I  am  absolutely  conscious  of  myself,  because  I  am 

this  I, — myself;  and  that  partly  as  a  practical 
being,  partly  as  an  intelligence.  The  first  con- 
sciousness is  Sensation,  the  second  Intuition — 
unlimited  space. 

2.  I   cannot  comprehend   the   unlimited,   for  I   am 

finite.  I  therefore  set  apart,  in  thought,  a  cer- 
tain portion  of  universal  space,  and  place  the 
former  in  a  certain  relation  to  the  latter. 

3.  The  measure  of  this  limited  portion  of  space  is 

the  extent  of  my  own  sensibility,  according  to 
a   principle   which   may   be   thus   expressed: — 
Whatever  affects  me  in  such  or  such  a  man- 
ner is  to  be  placed,  in  space,  in  such  or  such 
relations  to  the  other  things  which  affect  me. 
The  properties  or  attributes  of  the  object  proceed 
from  the  perception  of  my  own  internal   state;   the 
space  which  it  fills,  from  intuitive  contemplation.     By 
a  process  of  thought,  both  are  conjoined;  the  former 
being  added  to  the  latter.     It  is  so,  assuredly,  as  we 
have  said   before: — that   which  is  merely  a   state  or 
affection  of  myself,  by  being  transferred  or  projected 
into  space  becomes   an  attribute  of  the   object ;  but 


78  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

it  is  so  projected  into  space,  not  by  intuition,  but  by 
thought,  by  measuring,  regulating  thought.  Not  that 
this  act  is  to  be  regarded  as  an  intellectual  discovery 
or  creation ;  but  only  as  a  more  exact  definition,  by 
means  of  thought,  of  something  which  is  already  given 
in  sensation  and  intuition,  independent  of  all  thought. 

Spirit.  Whatever  affects  me  in  such  or  such  a  man- 
ner is  to  be  placed  in  such  or  such  relations: — thus 
dost  thou  reason  in  defining  and  arranging  objects 
in  space.  But  does  not  the  declaration  that  a  thing 
affects  thee  in  a  certain  manner  include  the  assumption 
that  it  affects  thee  generally? 

/.     Undoubtedly. 

Spirit.  And  is  any  presentation  of  an  external  ob- 
ject possible,  which  is  not  in  this  manner  limited  and 
defined  in  space? 

/.  No;  for  no  object  exists  in  space  generally,  but 
each  one  in  a  determinate  portion  of  space. 

Spirit.  So  that  in  fact,  whether  thou  art  conscious 
of  it  or  not,  every  external  object  is  assumed  by  thee 
as  affecting  thyself,  as  certainly  as  it  is  assumed  as 
filling  a  determinate  portion  of  space? 

/.     That  follows,  certainly. 

Spirit.  And  what  kind  of  presentation  is  that  of  an 
object  affecting  thyself? 

I.  Evidently  a  thought;  and  indeed  a  thought 
founded  on  the  principle  of  causality  already  men- 
tioned. I  see  now,  still  more  clearly,  that  the  con- 
sciousness of  the  object  is  engrafted  on  my  self-con- 
sciousness in  two  ways, — partly  by  intuition,  and 
partly  by  thought  founded  on  the  principle  of  cau- 
sality. The  object,  however  strange  it  may  seem,  is  at 
once  the  immediate  object  of  my  consciousness,  and 
the  result  of  deliberate  thought 


BOOK  II.    KNOWLEDGE.  79 

Spirit.  In  different  respects,  however.  Thou  must 
be  capable  of  being  conscious  of  this  thought  of  the 
object? 

/.     Doubtless;  although  usually  I  am  not  so. 

Spirit.  Therefore  to  thy  passive  state,  thy  affec- 
tion, thou  dost  superadd  in  thought  an  activity  out 
of  thyself,  such  as  thou  hast  above  described  in  the 
case  of  thy  thought  according  to  the  principle  of 
causality  ? 

/.     Yes. 

Spirit.  And  with  the  same  meaning  and  the  same 
validity  as  thou  didst  describe  it  above.  Thou  think- 
est  so  once  for  all,  and  must  think  so;  thou  canst  not 
alter  it,  and  canst  know  nothing  more  than  that  thou 
dost  think  so? 

/.  Nothing  more.  We  have  already  investigated 
all  this  thoroughly. 

Spirit.  I  said,  thou  dost  assume  an  object : — in  so 
far  as  it  is  so  assumed,  it  is  a  product  of  thy  own 
thought  only? 

/.     Certainly,  for  this  follows  from  the  former. 

Spirit.  And  what  now  is  this  object  which  is  thus 
assumed  according  to  the  principle  of  causality? 

/.     A  power  out  of  myself. 

Spirit.  Which  is  neither  revealed  to  thee  by  sensa- 
tion nor  by  intuition? 

/.  No;  I  always  remain  perfectly  conscious  that  I 
do  not  perceive  it  immediately,  but  only  by  means  of 
its  manifestations;  although  I  ascribe  to  it  an  exist- 
ence independent  of  myself.  I  am  affected,  there  must 
therefore  be  something  that  affects  me, — such  is  my 
thought. 

Spirit.  The  object  which  is  revealed  to  thee  in 
intuition,  and  that  which  thou  assumest  by  reasoning, 


8o  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

are  thus  very  different  things.  That  which  is  actually 
and  immediately  present  before  thee,  spread  out  in 
space,  is  the  object  of  intuition;  the  internal  force 
within  it,  which  is  not  present  before  thee,  but  whose 
existence  thou  art  led  to  assert  only  by  a  process  of 
reasoning,  is  the  object  of  the  understanding. 

/.  The  internal  force  within  it,  saidst  thou; — and 
now  I  bethink  me,  thou  art  right.  I  place  this  force 
also  in  space,  and  superadd  it  to  the  mass  by  which 
I  regard  space  as  filled. 

Spirit.  And  what  then,  according  to  thy  view,  is 
the  nature  of  the  relation  subsisting  between  this  force 
and  the  mass? 

/.  The  mass,  with  its  properties,  is  itself  the  result 
and  manifestation  of  the  inward  force.  This  force 
has  two  modes  of  operation: — one  whereby  it  main- 
tains itself,  and  assumes  this  particular  form  in  which 
it  appears;  another  upon  me,  by  which  it  affects  me 
in  a  particular  manner. 

Spirit.  Thou  hast  formerly  sought  for  another  sub- 
stratum for  sensible  attributes  or  qualities  than  the 
space  which  contains  them;  something  besides  this 
space,  permanent  amid  the  vicissitudes  of  perpetual 
change. 

/.  Yes,  and  this  permanent  substratum  is  found. 
It  is  force  itself.  This  remains  for  ever  the  same  amid 
all  change,  and  it  is  this  which  assumes  and  supports 
all  sensible  attributes  or  qualities. 

Spirit.  Let  us  cast  a  glance  back  on  all  that  we 
have  now  established.  Thou  feelest  thyself  in  a  cer- 
tain state,  affected  in  a  certain  manner,  which  thou 
callest  red,  smooth,  sweet,  and  so  on.  Of  this  thou 
knowest  nothing,  but  simply  that  thou  feelest,  and  feel- 


BOOK  II.    KNOWLEDGE.  St 

est  in  this  particular  manner.  Or  dost  thou  know 
more  than  mere  sensation  ? 

/.     No. 

Spirit.  Further,  it  is  by  thine  own  nature  as  an 
intelligence,  that  there  is  space  spread  out  before  thee ; 
— or  dost  thou  know  anything  more  than  this  concern- 
ing space  ? 

/.     By  no  means. 

Spirit.  Between  that  state  of  simple  sensation,  and 
this  space  which  is  spread  out  before  thee,  there  is 
not  the  smallest  connexion  except  that  they  are  both 
present  in  thy  consciousness.  Or  dost  thou  perceive 
any  other  connexion  between  them? 

7.     I  see  none. 

Spirit.  But  thou  art  a  thinking,  as  well  as  a  sensi- 
tive and  intuitive,  being;  and  yet  neither  dost  thou 
know  anything  more  of  this  matter,  than  that  so  thou 
art.  Thou  dost  not  merely  feel  thy  sensible  state, — 
thou  canst  also  conceive  of  it  in  thought;  but  it  af- 
fords thee  no  complete  thought;  thou  art  compelled 
to  add  something  to  it,  an  external  foundation,  a  for- 
eign power.  Or  dost  thou  know  more  of  it  than  that 
thou  dost  so  think,  and  that  thou  art  compelled  so  to 
think? 

7.  I  can  know  nothing  more  respecting  it.  I  can- 
not proceed  beyond  my  thought ;  for  simply  because  I 
think  it  does  it  become  my  thought  and  fall  under  the 
inevitable  laws  of  my  being. 

Spirit.  Through  this  thought  of  thine,  there  first 
arises  a  connexion  between  thy  own  state  which  thou 
feelest,  and  the  space  which  thou  dost  intuitively  con- 
template; thou  supposest  in  the  latter  the  foundation 
of  the  former.  Is  it  not  so  ? 

7.     It  is  so.     Thou  hast  clearly  proved  that  I  pro- 


82  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

duce  this  connexion  in  my  consciousness  by  my  own 
thought  only,  and  that  such  a  connexion  is  neither  di- 
rectly felt,  nor  intuitively  perceived.  But  of  any  con- 
nexion beyond  the  limits  of  my  consciousness  I  cannot 
speak ;  I  cannot  even  describe  such  a  connexion  in  any 
manner  of  way;  for  even  in  speaking  of  it  I  must  be 
conscious  of  it;  and,  since  this  consciousness  can  only 
be  a  thought,  the  connexion  itself  could  be  nothing 
more  than  a  thought;  and  this  is  precisely  the  same 
connexion  which  occurs  in  my  ordinary  natural  con- 
sciousness, and  no  other.  I  cannot  proceed  a  hair's- 
breadth  beyond  this  consciousness,  any  more  than  I 
can  spring  out  of  myself.  All  attempts  to  conceive  of 
an  absolute  connexion  between  things  in  themselves, 
and  the  I  in  itself,  are  but  attempts  to  ignore  our  own 
thought, — a  strange  forgetfulness  of  the  undeniable 
fact  that  we  can  have  no  thought  without  having — 
thought  it.  A  thing  in  itself  is  a  thought; — this, 
namely,  that  there  is  a  great  thought  which  yet  no 
man  has  ever  comprehended. 

Spirit.  From  thee  then  I  need  fear  no  objection 
to  the  principle  now  established: — that  our  conscious- 
ness of  things  out  of  ourselves  is  absolutely  nothing 
more  than  the  product  of  our  own  presentative  fac- 
ulty, and  that,  with  regard  to  external  things,  we  can 
produce  in  this  way  nothing  more  than  simply  what 
we  know,  i.  e.  what  is  established  by  means  of  our 
consciousness  itself,  as  the  result  of  our  being  pos- 
sessed the  consciousness  generally  and  of  this  particular 
determinate  consciousness  subject  to  such  and  such 
laws. 

/.     I  cannot  refute  this.     It  is  so. 

Spirit.  Thou  canst  not  then  object  to  the  bolder 
statement  of  the  same  proposition;  that  in  that  which 


BOOK  II.    KNOWLEDGE.  83 

we  call  knowledge  and  observation  of  outward  things, 
we  at  all  times  recognise  and  observe  ourselves  only; 
and  that  in  all  our  consciousness  we  know  of  nothing 
whatever  but  of  ourselves  and  of  our  own  determinate 
states. 

I  say,  thou  wilt  not  be  able  to  advance  aught  against 
this  proposition;  for  if  the  external  world  generally 
arises  for  us  only  through  our  own  consciousness, 
what  is  particular  and  multiform  in  this  external  world 
can  arise  in  no  other  way;  and  if  the  connexion  be- 
tween what  is  external  to  us  and  ourselves  is  merely 
a  connexion  in  our  own  thought,  then  is  the  connexion 
of  the  multifarious  objects  of  the  external  world 
among  themselves  undoubtedly  this  and  no  other.  As 
clearly  as  I  have  now  pointed  out  to  thee  the  origin 
of  this  system  of  objects  beyond  thyself  and  their  re- 
lation to  thee,  could  I  also  show  thee  the  law  accord- 
ing to  which  there  arises  an  infinite  multiplicity  of  such 
objects,  mutually  connected,  reciprocally  determining 
each  other  with  rigid  necessity,  and  thus  forming  a 
complete  world-system,  as  thou  thyself  hast  well  de- 
scribed it;  and  I  only  spare  myself  this  task  because 
I  find  that  thou  hast  already  admitted  the  conclusion 
for  the  sake  of  which  alone  I  should  have  under- 
taken it. 

/.     I  see  it  all,  and  must  assent  to  it. 

Spirit.  And  with  this  insight,  mortal,  be  free,  and 
for  ever  released  from  the  fear  which  has  degraded 
and  tormented  thee!  Thou  wilt  no  longer  tremble  at 
a  necessity  which  exists  only  in  thine  own  thought ;  no 
longer  fear  to  be  crushed  by  things  which  are  the 
product  of  thine  own  mind ;  no  longer  place  thyself,  the 
thinking  being,  in  the  same  class  with  the  thoughts 
which  proceed  from  thee.  As  long  as  thou  couldst 


84  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

believe  that  a  system  of  things,  such  as  thou  hast  de- 
scribed, really  existed  out  of,  and  independently  of, 
thee,  and  that  thou  thyself  mightst  be  but  a  link  in 
this  chain,  such  a  fear  was  well  grounded.  Now 
when  thou  hast  seen  that  all  this  exists  only  in  and 
through  thyself,  thou  wilt  doubtless  no  longer  fear 
that  which  thou  dost  now  recognise  as  thine  own 
creation. 

It  was  from  this  fear  that  I  wished  to  set  thee  free. 
Thou  art  delivered  from  it,  and  I  now  leave  thee  to 
thyself.  

/.  Stay,  deceitful  Spirit!  Is  this  all  the  wisdom 
towards  which  thou  hast  directed  my  hopes,  and  dost 
thou  boast  that  thou  hast  set  me  free  ?  Thou  hast  set 
me  free,  it  is  true: — thou  hast  absolved  me  from  all 
dependence;  for  thou  hast  transformed  myself,  and 
everything  around  me  on  which  I  could  possibly  be 
dependent,  into  nothing.  Thou  hast  abolished  neces- 
sity by  annihilating  all  existence. 

Spirit.     Is  the  danger  so  great? 

/.  And  thou  canst  jest! — According  to  thy  sys- 
tem— 

Spirit.  My  system?  Whatever  we  have  agreed 
upon,  we  have  produced  in  common ;  we  have  laboured 
together,  and  thou  hast  understood  everything  as  well 
as  I  myself.  But  it  would  still  be  difficult  for  thee  at 
present  even  to  guess  at  my  true  and  perfect  mode  of 
thought. 

/.  Call  thy  thoughts  by  what  name  thou  wilt;  by 
all  that  thou  hast  hitherto  said,  there  is  nothing,  abso- 
lutely nothing  but  presentations, — modes  of  conscious- 
ness, and  of  consciousness  only.  But  a  presentation 
is  to  me  only  the  picture,  the  shadow,  of  a  reality ;  in 


BOOK  II.    KNOWLEDGE.  85 

itself  it  cannot  satisfy  me,  and  has  not  the  smallest 
worth.  I  might  be  content  that  this  material  world 
beyond  me  should  vanish  into  a  mere  picture,  or  be 
dissolved  into  a  shadow;  I  am  not  dependent  on  it: — 
but  according  to  thy  previous  reasoning,  I  myself  dis- 
appear no  less  than  it;  I  myself  am  transformed  into 
a  mere  presentation,  without  meaning  and  without  pur- 
pose. Or  tell  me,  is  it  otherwise? 

Spirit.  I  say  nothing  in  my  own  name.  Examine, — 
help  thyself ! 

/.  I  appear  to  myself  as  a  body  existing  in  space, 
with  organs  of  sense  and  of  action,  as  a  physical  force 
governed  by  a  will.  Of  all  this  thou  wilt  say,  as  thou 
hast  before  said  of  objects  out  of  myself,  the  thinking 
being,  that  it  is  a  product  of  sensation,  intuition,  and 
thought  combined. 

Spirit.  Undoubtedly.  I  will  even  show  thee,  step 
by  step,  if  thou  desirest  it,  the  laws  according  to  which 
thou  appearest  to  thyself  in  consciousness  as  an  organic 
body,  with  such  and  such  senses, — as  a  physical  force, 
&c.,  and  thou  wilt  be  compelled  to  admit  the  truth  of 
what  I  show  thee. 

J.  I  foresee  that  result.  As  I  have  been  compelled 
to  admit  that  what  I  call  sweet,  red,  hard,  and  so  on, 
is  nothing  more  than  my  own  affection ;  and  that  only 
by  intuition  and  thought  it  is  transposed  out  of  myself 
into  space,  and  regarded  as  the  property  of  something 
existing  independently  of  me;  so  shall  I  also  be  com- 
pelled to  admit  that  this  body,  with  all  its  organs,  is 
nothing  but  a  sensible  manifestation,  in  a  determinate 
portion  of  space,  of  myself  the  inward  thinking  be- 
ing;— that  I,  the  spiritual  entity,  the  pure  intelligence, 
and  I,  the  bodily  frame  in  the  physical  world,  are  one 
and  the  same,  merely  viewed  from  two  different  sides, 


86'  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

and  conceived  of  by  two  different  faculties ; — the  first 
by  pure  thought,  the  second  by  external  intuition. 

Spirit.  This  would  certainly  be  the  result  of  any 
inquiry  that  might  be  instituted. 

/.  And  this  thinking,  spiritual  entity,  this  intelli- 
gence which  by  intuition  is  transformed  into  a  material 
body, — what  can  even  it  be,  according  to  these  princi- 
ples, but  a  product  of  my  own  thought,  something 
merely  conceived  of  by  me  because  I  am  compelled  to 
imagine  its  existence  by  virtue  of  a  law  to  me  wholly 
inconceivable,  proceeding  from  nothing  and  tending  to 
nothing. 

Spirit.     It  is  possible. 

/.  Thou  becomest  hesitating  and  faint-hearted.  It 
is  not  possible  only :  it  is  necessary,  according  to  these 
principles. 

This  perceiving,  thinking,  willing,  intelligent  entity, 
or  whatever  else  thou  mayest  name  that  which  pos- 
sesses the  faculties  of  perception,  thought,  and  so 
forth ; — that  in  which  these  faculties  inhere,  or  in  what- 
ever other  way  thou  mayest  express  this  thought; — 
how  do  I  attain  a  knowledge  of  it?  Am  I  immedi- 
ately conscious  of  it?  How  can  I  be?  It  is  only  of 
actual  and  specific  acts  of  perception,  thought,  will, 
&c.,  as  of  particular  occurrences,  that  I  am  imme- 
diately conscious ;  not  of  the  capacities  through  which 
they  are  performed,  and  still  less  of  a  being  in  whom 
these  capacities  inhere.  I  perceive,  directly  and  in- 
tuitively, this  specific  thought  which  occupies  me  dur- 
ing the  present  moment,  and  other  specific  thoughts  in 
other  moments;  and  here  this  inward  intellectual  in- 
tuition, this  immediate  consciousness,  ends.  This  in- 
ward intuitive  thought,  now  becomes  itself  an  object 
of  thought;  but  according  to  the  laws  under  which 


BOOK  II.    KNOWLEDGE.  87 

alone  I  can  think,  it  seems  to  me  imperfect  and  incom- 
plete, just  as  formerly  the  thought  of  my  sensible 
states  was  but  an  imperfect  thought.  As  formerly  to 
mere  passivity  I  unconsciously  superadded  in  thought 
an  active  element,  so  here  to  my  determinate  state  (my 
actual  thought  or  will)  I  superadd  a  determinable  ele- 
ment (an  infinite,  possible  thought  or  will)  simply  be- 
cause /  must  do  so,  and  for  the  same  reason,  but  with- 
out being  conscious  of  this  mental  opposition.  This 
manifold  possible  thought  I  further  comprehend  as 
one  definite  whole; — once  more  because  I  must  do  so, 
since  I  am  unable  to  comprehend  anything  indefinite, — 
and  thus  I  obtain  the  idea  of  a  finite  capacity  of 
thought,  and — since  this  idea  carries  with  it  the  notion 
of  a  something  independent  of  the  thought  itself — of 
a  being  or  entity  which  possesses  this  capacity. 

But,  on  higher  principles,  it  may  be  made  still  more 
conceivable  how  this  thinking  being  is  produced  by 
its  own  thought.  Thought  in  itself  is  genetic,  assum- 
ing the  previous  creation  of  an  object  immediately  re- 
vealed, and  occupying  itself  with  the  description  of  this 
object.  Intuition  gives  the  naked  fact,  and  nothing 
more.  Thought  explains  this  fact,  and  unites  it  to 
another,  not  found  in  intuition,  but  produced  purely 
by  thought  itself,  from  which  it,  the  fact,  proceeds. 
So  here.  I  am  conscious  of  a  determinate  thought; 
thus  far,  and  no  farther,  does  intuitive  consciousness 
carry  me.  I  think  this  determinate  thought,  that  is,  I 
bring  it  forth  from  an  indeterminate,  but  determinable, 
possibility  of  thought.  In  this  way  I  proceed  with 
everything  determinate  which  is  presented  in  imme- 
diate consciousness,  and  thus  arise  for  me  all  those 
series  of  capacities,  and  of  beings  possessing  these  ca- 
pacities, whose  existence  I  assume. 


88  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

Spirit.  Even  with  respect  to  thyself,  therefore,  thou 
art  conscious  only  that  thou  feelest,  perceivest,  or 
thinkest,  in  this  or  that  determinate  manner 

/.  That  /  feel,  /  perceive,  I  think?— that  I,  as  the 
efficient  principle,  produce  the  sensation,  the  intuition, 
the  thought?  By  no  means!  Not  even  so  much  as 
this  have  thy  principles  left  me. 

Spirit.     Possibly. 

/.  Necessarily; — for  see:  All  that  I  know  is  my 
consciousness  itself.  All  consciousness  is  either  an  im- 
mediate or  a  mediate  consciousness.  The  first  is  self- 
consciousness ;  the  second  consciousness  of  that  which 
is  not  myself.  What  I  call  /  is  therefore  absolutely 
nothing  more  than  a  certain  modification  of  conscious- 
ness, which  is  called  /  just  because  it  is  immediate,  re- 
turning into  itself,  and  not  directed  outward.  Since  all 
other  consciousness  is  possible  only  under  the  condi- 
tion of  this  immediate  consciousness,  it  is  obvious  that 
this  consciousness  which  is  called  /  must  accompany 
all  my  other  conceptions,  be  necessarily  contained  in 
them,  although  not  always  clearly  perceived  by  me, 
and  that  in  each  moment  of  my  consciousness  I  must 
refer  everything  to  this  I,  and  not  to  the  particular 
thing  out  of  myself  thought  of  at  the  moment.  In 
this  way  the  /  would  at  every  moment  vanish  and  reap- 
pear; and  for  every  new  conception  a  new  /  would 
arise,  and  this  /  would  never  signify  anything  more 
than — not  the  thing. 

This  scattered  self-consciousness  is  now  combined  by 
thought, — by  mere  thought,  I  say — and  presented  in 
the  unity  of  a  supposed  capacity  of  thought.  Accord- 
ing to  this  supposition,  all  conceptions  which  are  ac- 
companied by  the  immediate  consciousness  already 
spoken  of,  must  proceed  from  one  and  the  same  ca- 


BOOK  II.    KNOWLEDGE.  89 

pacity,  which  inheres  in  one  and  the  same  entity ;  and 
thus  there  arises  for  me  the  notion  of  the  identity  and 
personality  of  my  I,  and  of  an  efficient  and  real  power 
in  this  person, — necessarily  a  mere  fiction,  since  this 
capacity  and  this  entity  are  themselves  only  supposi- 
tions. 

Spirit.     Thou  reasonest  correctly. 

/.  And  thou  hast  pleasure  in  this !  I  may  then  in- 
deed say  "  it  is  thought," — and  yet  I  can  scarcely  say 
even  this ; — rather,  strictly  speaking,  I  ought  to  say 
"  the  thought  appears  that  I  feel,  perceive,  think," — 
but  by  no  means  "  that  I  feel,  perceive,  think."  The 
first  only  is  fact;  the  second  is  an  imaginary  addition 
to  the  fact. 

Spirit.     It  is  well  expressed. 

/.  There  is  nothing  enduring,  either  out  of  me, 
or  in  me,  but  only  a  ceaseless  change.  I  know  of  no 
being,  not  even  of  my  own.  There  is  no  being.  I 
myself  absolutely  know  not,  and  am  not.  Pictures 
are: — they  are  the  only  things  which  exist,  and  they 
know  of  themselves  after  the  fashion  of  pictures: — 
pictures  which  float  past  without  there  being  anything 
past  which  they  float;  which,  by  means  of  like  pic- 
tures, are  connected  with  each  other: — pictures  with- 
out anything  which  is  pictured  in  them,  without  sig- 
nificance and  without  aim.  I  myself  am  one  of  these 
pictures ; — nay,  I  am  not  even  this,  but  merely  a  con- 
fused picture  of  the  pictures.  All  reality  is  trans- 
formed into  a  strange  dream,  without  a  life  which  is 
dreamed  of,  and  without  a  mind  which  dreams  it; — 
into  a  dream  which  is  woven  together  in  a  dream  of 
itself.  Intuition  is  the  dream ;  thought, — the  source 
of  all  the  being  and  all  the  reality  which  I  imagine,  of 


90  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

my  own  being,  my  own  powers,  and  my  own  pur- 
poses,— is  the  dream  of  that  dream. 

Spirit.  Thou  hast  well  understood  it  all.  Employ 
the  sharpest  expressions  to  make  this  result  hateful, 
since  thou  must  submit  to  it.  And  this  thou  must  do. 
Thou  hast  clearly  seen  that  it  cannot  be  otherwise. 
Or  wilt  thou  now  retract  thy  admissions,  and  justify 
thy  retractation  on  principle? 

/.  By  no  means.  I  have  seen,  and  now  see  clearly, 
that  it  is  so; — yet  I  cannot  believe  it. 

Spirit.  Thou  seest  it  clearly,  and  yet  canst  not  be- 
lieve it?  That  is  a  different  matter. 

/.  Thou  art  a  profligate  spirit:  thy  knowledge 
itself  is  profligacy,  and  springs  from  profligacy ;  and  I 
cannot  thank  thee  for  having  led  me  on  this  path ! 

Spirit.  Short-sighted  mortal!  When  men  venture 
to  look  into  being,  and  see  as  far  as  themselves,  and  a 
little  further, — such  as  thou  art  call  it  profligacy.  I 
have  allowed  thee  to  deduce  the  results  of  our  inquiry 
in  thine  own  way,  to  analyze  them,  and  to  clothe  them 
in  hateful  expressions.  Didst  thou  then  think  that 
these  results  were  less  known  to  me  than  to  thyself, — 
that  I  did  not  understand,  as  well  as  thou,  how  by 
these  principles  all  reality  was  thoroughly  annihilated, 
and  transformed  into  a  dream  ?  Didst  thou  then  take 
me  for  a  blind  admirer  and  advocate  of  this  system,  as 
a  complete  system  of  the  human  mind? 

Thou  didst  desire  to  know,  and  thou  hadst  taken  a 
wrong  road.  Thou  didst  seek  knowledge  where  no 
knowledge  can  reach ;  and  hadst  even  persuaded  thy- 
self that  thou  hadst  obtained  an  insight  into  some- 
thing which  is  opposed  to  the  very  nature  of  all  in- 


BOOK  II.    KNOWLEDGE.  91 

sight.  I  found  thee  in  this  condition.  I  wished  to 
free  thee  from  thy  false  knowledge;  but  by  no  means 
to  bring  thee  the  true. 

Thou  didst  desire  to  know  of  thy  knowledge.  Art 
thou  surprised  that  in  this  way  thou  didst  discover 
nothing  more  than  that  of  which  thou  desiredst  to 
know, — thy  knowledge  itself;  and  wouldst  thou  have 
had  it  otherwise  ?  What  has  its  origin  in  and  through 
knowledge,  is  merely  knowledge.  All  knowledge, 
however,  is  but  pictures,  representations;  and  there  is 
always  something  awanting  in  it, — that  which  cor- 
responds to  the  representation.  This  want  cannot  be 
supplied  by  knowledge;  a  system  of  mere  knowledge 
is  necessarily  a  system  of  mere  pictures,  wholly  with- 
out reality,  significance  or  aim.  Didst  thou  expect 
anything  else?  Wouldst  thou  change  the  very  nature 
of  thy  mind,  and  desire  thy  knowledge  to  be  some- 
thing more  than  knowledge? 

The  reality,  in  which  thou  didst  formerly  believe, — 
a  material  world  existing  independently  of  thee,  of 
which  thou  didst  fear  to  become  the  slave, — has  van- 
ished; for  this  whole  material  world  arises  only 
through  knowledge,  and  is  itself  our  knowledge;  but 
knowledge  is  not  reality,  just  because  it  is  knowledge. 
Thou  hast  seen  through  the  illusion ;  and,  without  be- 
lying thy  better  insight,  thou  canst  never  again  give 
thyself  up  to  it.  This  is  the  sole  merit  which  I  claim 
for  the  system  which  we  have  together  discovered; — 
it  destroys  and  annihilates  error.  It  cannot  give  us 
truth,  for  in  itself  it  is  absolutely  empty.  Thou  dost  now 
seek,  and  with  good  right  as  I  well  know,  something 
real  lying  beyond  mere  appearance,  another  reality 


92  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

than  that  which  has  thus  been  annihilated.  But  in 
vain  wouldst  thou  labour  to  create  this  reality  by 
means  of  thy  knowledge  or  out  of  thy  knowledge ;  or 
to  embrace  it  by  thy  understanding.  If  thou  hast  no 
other  organ  by  which  to  apprehend  it,  thou  wilt  never 
find  it. 

But  thou  hast  such  an  organ.  Arouse  and  animate 
it,  and  thou  wilt  attain  to  perfect  tranquillity.  I  leave 
thee  alone  with  thyself. 


BOOK  III. 

FAITH. 

TERRIBLE  Spirit,  thy  discourse  has  smitten  me  to  the 
ground.  But  thou  referrest  me  to  myself,  and  what 
were  I  could  anything  out  of  myself  irrecoverably 
cast  me  down?  I  will, — yes,  surely  I  will  follow  thy 
counsel. 

What  seekest  thou,  then,  my  complaining  heart? 
What  is  it  that  excites  thee  against  a  system  to  which 
my  understanding  cannot  raise  the  slightest  objec- 
tion? 

This  it  is: — I  demand  something  beyond  a  mere 
presentation  or  conception;  something  that  is,  has 
been,  and  will  be,  even  if  the  presentation  were  not; 
and  which  the  presentation  only  records,  without  pro- 
ducing it,  or  in  the  smallest  degree  changing  it.  A 
mere  presentation  I  now  see  to  be  a  deceptive  show; 
my  presentations  must  have  a  meaning  beneath  them, 
and  if  my  entire  knowledge  revealed  to  me  nothing  but 
knowledge,  I  would  be  defrauded  of  my  whole  life. 
That  there  is  nothing  whatever  but  my  presentations 
or  conceptions,  is,  to  the  natural  sense  of  mankind,  a 
silly  and  ridiculous  conceit  which  no  man  can  seriously 
entertain,  and  which  requires  no  refutation.  To  the 
better-informed  judgment,  which  knows  the  deep,  and, 
by  mere  reasoning,  irrefragable  grounds  for  this  as- 
sertion, it  is  a  prostrating,  annihilating  thought. 

And  what,  then,  is  this  something  lying  beyond  all 
93 


94  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

presentation,  towards  which  I  stretch  forward  with 
such  ardent  longing?  What  is  the  power  with  which 
it  draws  me  towards  it?  What  is  the  central  point 
in  my  soul  to  which  it  is  attached,  and  with  which 
only  it  can  be  effaced? 

"  Not  merely  TO  KNOW,  but  according  to  thy  knowl- 
edge TO  DO,  is  thy  vocation :  " — thus  is  it  loudly  pro- 
claimed in  the  innermost  depths  of  my  soul,  as  soon 
as  I  recollect  myself  for  a  moment,  and  turn  my  ob- 
servation upon  myself.  "  Not  for  idle  contemplation 
of  thyself,  not  for  brooding  over  devout  sensations ; — 
no,  for  action  art  thou  here;  thine  action,  and  thine 
action  alone,  determines  thy  worth." 

This  voice  leads  me  out  from  presentation,  from 
mere  cognition,  to  something  which  lies  beyond  it  and 
is  entirely  opposed  to  it ;  to  something  which  is  greater 
and  higher  than  all  knowledge,  and  which  contains 
within  itself  the  end  and  object  of  all  knowledge. 
When  I  'act,  I  doubtless  know  that  I  act,  and  how  I 
act;  nevertheless  this  knowledge  is  not  the  act  itself, 
but  only  the  observation  of  it.  This  voice  thus  an- 
nounces to  me  precisely  that  which  I  sought ;  a  some- 
thing lying  beyond  mere  knowledge,  and,  in  its  nature, 
wholly  independent  of  knowledge. 

Thus  it  is,  I  know  it  immediately.  But,  having  once 
entered  within  the  domain  of  speculation,  the  doubt 
which  has  been  awakened  within  me  will  secretly  en- 
dure and  will  continue  to  disturb  me.  Since  I  have 
placed  myself  in  this  position,  I  can  obtain  no  com- 
plete satisfaction  until  everything  which  I  accept  is 
justified  before  the  tribunal  of  speculation.  I  have 
thus  to  ask  myself, — how  is  it  thus?  Whence  arises 
that  voice  in  my  soul  which  directs  me  to  something 
beyond  mere  presentation  and  knowledge? 


BOOK  III.    FAITH.  95 

There  is  within  me  an  impulse  to  absolute,  inde- 
pendent self-activity.  Nothing  is  more  insupportable 
to  me,  than  to  be  merely  by  another,  for  another,  and 
through  another;  I  must  be  something  for  myself  and 
by  myself  alone.  This  impulse  I  feel  along  with  the 
perception  of  my  own  existence,  it  is  inseparably 
united  to  my  consciousness  of  myself. 

I  explain  this  feeling  to  myself  by  reflection;  and, 
as  it  were,  add  to  this  blind  impulse  the  power  of  sight 
by  means  of  thought.  According  to  this  impulse  I 
must  act  as  an  absolutely  independent  being: — thus  I 
understand  and  translate  the  impulse.  I  must  be  in- 
dependent. Who  am  I  ?  Subject  and  object  in  one, — 
the  conscious  being  and  that  of  which  I  am  conscious, 
gifted  with  intuitive  knowledge  and  myself  revealed 
in  that  intuition,  the  thinking  mind  and  myself  the 
object  of  the  thought — inseparable,  and  ever  present 
to  each  other.  As  both,  must  I  be  what  I  am,  abso- 
lutely by  myself  alone; — by  myself  originate  concep- 
tions,— by  myself  produce  a  condition  of  things  lying 
beyond  these  conceptions.  But  how  is  the  latter  pos- 
sible? With  nothing  I  cannot  connect  any  being 
whatsoever;  from  nothing  there  can  never  arise  some- 
thing; my  objective  thought  is  necessarily  mediative 
only.  But  any  being  which  is  connected  with  another 
being  becomes  thereby  dependent; — it  is  no  longer  a 
primary,  original,  and  genetic,  but  only  a  secondary 
and  derived  being.  I  am  constrained  to  connect  my- 
self with  something; — with  another  being  I  cannot 
connect  myself  without  losing  that  independence  which 
is  the  condition  of  my  own  existence. 

My  conception  and  origination  of  a  purpose,  how- 
ever, is,  by  its  very  nature,  absolutely  free, — producing 
something  out  of  nothing.  With  such  a  conception  I 


96  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

must  connect  my  activity,  in  order  that  it  may  be  pos- 
sible to  regard  it  as  free,  and  as  proceeding  absolutely 
from  myself  alone. 

In  the  following  manner  therefore  do  I  conceive  of 
my  independence  as  /.  I  ascribe  to  myself  the  power 
of  originating  a  conception  simply  because  I  originate 
it,  of  originating  this  conception  simply  because  I 
originate  this  one, — by  the  absolute  sovereignty  of 
myself  as  an  intelligence.  I  further  ascribe  to  myself 
the  power  of  manifesting  this  conception  beyond  itself 
by  means  of  an  action ; — ascribe  to  myself  a  real,  active 
power,  capable  of  producing  something  beyond  itself, — 
a  power  which  is  entirely  different  from  the  mere 
power  of  conception.  These  conceptions,  which  are 
called  conceptions  of  design,  or  purposes,  are  not,  like 
the  conceptions  of  mere  knowledge,  copies  of  some- 
thing already  existing,  but  rather  types  of  something 
yet  to  be;  the  real  power  lies  beyond  them,  and  is  in 
itself  independent  of  them ; — it  only  receives  from  them 
its  immediate  determinations,  which  are  apprehended 
by  knowledge.  Such  an  independent  power  it  is  that, 
in  consequence  of  this  impulse,  I  ascribe  to  myself. 

Here  then,  it  appears,  is  the  point  at  which  conscious- 
ness connects  itself  with  reality ; — the  real  efficiency  of 
my  conception,  and  the  real  power  of  action  which, 
in  consequence  of  it,  I  am  compelled  to  ascribe  to  my- 
self, is  this  point.  Let  it  be  as  it  may  with  the  reality 
of  a  sensible  world  beyond  me;  I  possess  reality  and 
comprehend  it, — it  lies  within  my  own  being,  it  is  na- 
tive to  myself. 

I  conceive  this,  my  real  power  of  action,  in  thought, 
but  I  do  not  create  it  by  thought.  The  immediate  feel- 
ing of  my  impulse  to  independent  activity  lies  at  the 
foundation  of  this  thought ;  the  thought  does  no  more 


BOOK  III.    FAITH.  97 

than  portray  this  feeling,  and  accept  it  in  its  own 
form, — the  form  of  thought.  This  procedure  may,  I 
think,  be  vindicated  before  the  tribunal  of  speculation. 


What!  Shall  I,  once  more,  knowingly  and  inten- 
tionally deceive  myself?  This  procedure  can  by  no 
means  be  justified  before  thavt  strict  tribunal. 

I  feel  within  me  an  impulse  and  an  effort  towards 
outward  activity;  this  appears  to  be  true,  and  to  be 
the  only  truth  belonging  to  the  matter.  Since  it  is  I 
who  feel  this  impulse,  and  since  I  cannot  pass  beyond 
myself,  either  with  my  whole  consciousness,  or  in  par- 
ticular with  my  capacity  of  sensation, — since  this  7 
itself  is  the  last  point  at  which  I  am  conscious  of  this 
impulse,  it  certainly  appears  to  me  as  an  impulse 
founded  in  myself,  to  an  activity  also  founded  in  my- 
self. Might  it  not  be  however  that  this  impulse,  al- 
though unperceived  by  me,  is  in  reality  the  impulse  of  a 
foreign  power  invisible  to  me,  and  that  notion  of  inde- 
pendence merely  a  delusion,  arising  from  my  sphere 
of  vision  being  limited  to  myself  alone?  I  have  no 
reason  to  assume  this,  but  just  as  little  reason  to  deny 
it.  I  must  confess  that  I  absolutely  know  nothing,  and 
can  know  nothing,  about  it. 

Do  I  then  indeed  feel  that  real  power  of  free  action, 
which,  strangely  enough,  I  ascribe  to  myself  without 
knowing  anything  of  it  ?  By  no  means ; — it  is  merely 
the  de terminable  element,  which  by  the  well-known 
laws  of  thought  whereby  all  capacities  and  all  powers 
arise,  we  are  compelled  to  add  in  imagination  to  the 
determinate  element — the  real  action,  which  itself  is, 
in  like  manner,  only  an  assumption. 

Is  that  procession,  from  the  mere  conception  to  an 


98  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

imaginary  realization  of  it,  anything  more  than  the 
usual  and  well-known  procedure  of  all  objective 
thought,  which  always  strives  to  be,  not  mere  thought, 
but  something  more?  By  what  dishonesty  can  this 
procedure  be  made  of  more  value  here  than  in  any 
other  case? — can  it  possess  any  deeper  significance, 
when  to  the  conception  of  a  thought  it  adds  a  realiza- 
tion of  this  thought,  than  when  to  the  conception  of 
this  table  it  adds  an  actual  and  present  table  ?  "  The 
conception  of  a  purpose,  a  particular  determination  of 
events  in  me,  appears  in  a  double  shape, — partly  as 
subjective — a  Thought;  partly  as  objective — an  Ac- 
tion." What  reason,  which  would  not  unquestionably 
itself  stand  in  need  of  a  genetic  deduction,  could  I  ad- 
duce against  this  explanation  ? 

I  say  that  I  feel  this  impulse : — it  is  therefore  I  my- 
self who  say  so,  and  think  so  while  I  say  it?  Do  I 
then  really  feel,  or  only  think  that  I  feel?  Is  not  all 
which  I  call  feeling  only  a  presentation  produced  by  my 
objective  process  of  thought,  and  indeed  the  first 
transition  point  of  all  objectivity?  And  then  again,  do 
I  really  think,  or  do  I  merely  think  that  I  think  ?  And 
do  I  think  that  I  really  think,  or  merely  that  I  pos- 
sess the  idea  of  thinking?  What  can  hinder  specula- 
tion from  raising  such  questions,  and  continuing  to 
raise  them  without  end  ?  What  can  I  answer,  -  and 
where  is  there  a  point  at  which  I  can  command  such 
questionings  to  cease?  I  know,  and  must  admit,  that 
each  definite  act  of  consciousness  may  be  made  the  sub- 
ject of  reflection,  and  a  new  consciousness  of  the  first 
consciousness  may  thus  be  created;  and  that  thereby 
the  immediate  consciousness  is  raised  a  step  higher, 
and  the  first  consciousness  darkened  and  made  doubt- 
ful ;  and  that  to  this  ladder  there  is  no  highest  step.  I 


BOOK  III.    FAITH.  99 

know  that  all  scepticism  rests  upon  this  process,  and 
that  the  system  which  has  so  violently  prostrated  me 
is  founded  on  the  adoption  and  the  clear  conscious- 
ness of  it. 

I  know  that  if  I  am  not  merely  to  play  another 
perplexing  game  with  this  system,  but  intend  really 
and  practically  to  adopt  it,  I  must  refuse  obedience  to 
that  voice  within  me.  "  I  cannot  will  to  act,  for  accord- 
ing to  that  system  I  cannot  know  whether  I  can  really 
act  or  not: — I  can  never  believe  that  I  truly  act;  that 
which  seems  to  be  my  action  must  appear  to  me  as 
entirely  without  meaning,  as  a  mere  delusive  picture. 
All  earnestness  and  all  interest  is  withdrawn  from  my 
life;  and  life,  as  well  as  thought,  is  transformed  into 
a  mere  play,  which  proceeds  from  nothing  and  tends 
to  nothing. 

Shall  I  then  refuse  obedience  to  that  inward  voice? 
I  will  not  do  so.  I  will  freely  accept  the  vocation 
which  this  impulse  assigns  to  me,  and  in  this  resolu- 
tion I  will  lay  hold  at  once  of  thought,  in  all  its  reality 
.and  truthfulness,  and  on  the  reality  of  all  things  which 
are  presupposed  therein,  I  will  restrict  myself  to  the 
position  of  natural  thought  in  which  this  impulse  places 
me,  and  cast  from  me  all  those  over-refined  and  sub- 
tile inquiries  which  alone  could  make  me  doubtful  of 
its  truth. 

I  understand  thee  now,  sublime  Spirit!  I  have 
found  the  organ  by  which  to  apprehend  this  reality, 
and,  with  this,  probably  all  other  reality.  Knowledge 
is  not  this  organ: — no  knowledge  can  be  its  own 
foundation,  its  own  proof;  every  knowledge  presup- 
poses another  higher  knowledge  on  which  it  is  founded, 
and  to  this  ascent  there  is  no  end.  It  is  FAITH,  that 
voluntary  acquiescence  in  the  view  which  is  naturally 


TOO  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

presented  to  us,  because  only  through  this  view  we 
can  fulfil  our  vocation; — this  it  is,  which  first  lends  a 
sanction  to  knowledge,  and  raises  to  certainty  and 
conviction  that  which  without  it  might  be  mere  de- 
lusion. It  is  not  knowledge,  but  a  resolution  of  the 
will  to  admit  the  validity  of  knowledge. 

Let  me  hold  fast  for  ever  by  this  doctrine,  which 
is  no  mere  verbal  distinction,  but  a  true  and  deep  one, 
bearing  with  it  the  most  important  consequences  for 
my  whole  existence  and  character.  All  my  conviction 
is  but  faith;  and  it  proceeds  from  the  will,  not  from 
the  understanding.  Knowing  this,  I  will  enter  upon 
no  disputation,  because  I  foresee  that  thereby  nothing 
can  be  gained ;  I  will  not  suffer  myself  to  be  perplexed 
by  it,  for  the  source  of  my  conviction  lies  higher  than 
all  disputation;  I  will  not  suffer  myself  to  entertain 
the  desire  of  pressing  this  conviction  on  others  by 
reasoning,  and  I  will  not  be  surprised  if  such  an  un- 
dertaking should  fail.  I  have  adopted  my  mode  of 
thinking  first  of  all  for  myself,  not  for  others,  and 
before  myself  only  will  I  justify  it.  He  who  possesses 
the  honest,  upright  purpose  of  which  I  am  conscious, 
will  also  attain  a  similar  conviction ;  but  without  that, 
this  conviction  can  in  no  way  be  attained;  Now  that 
I  know  this,  I  also  know  from  what  point  all  culture 
of  myself  and  others  must  proceed ;  from  the  will,  not 
from  the  understanding.  If  the  former  be  only  fixedly 
and  honestly  directed  towards  the  Good,  the  latter  will 
of  itself  apprehend  the  True.  Should  the  latter  only 
be  exercised,  whilst  the  former  remains  neglected,  there 
can  arise  nothing  whatever  but  a  dexterity  in  groping 
after  vain  and  empty  refinements,  throughout  the  ab- 
solute void  inane.  Now  that  I  know  this,  I  am  able 
to  confute  all  false  knowledge  that  may  rise  in  oppo- 


BOOK  III.    FAITH.  101 

sition  to  my  faith.  I  know  that  every  pretended  truth, 
produced  by  mere  speculative  thought,  and  not  founded 
upon  faith,  is  assuredly  false  and  surreptitious;  for 
mere  knowledge,  thus  produced,  leads  only  to  the  con- 
viction that  we  can  know  nothing.  I  know  that  such 
false  knowledge  never  can  discover  anything  but  what 
it  has  previously  placed  in  its  premises  through  faith, 
from  which  it  probably  draws  conclusions  which  are 
wholly  false.  Now  that  I  know  this,  I  possess  the 
touchstone  of  all  truth  and  of  all  conviction.  Con- 
science alone  is  the  root  of  all  truth:  whatever  is  op- 
posed to  conscience,  or  stands  in  the  way  of  the  ful- 
filment of  her  behests,  is  assuredly  false;  and  it  is 
impossible  for  me  to  arrive  at  a  conviction  of  its  truth, 
even  if  I  should  be  unable  to  discover  the  fallacies  by 
which  it  is  produced. 

So  has  it  been  with  all  men  who  have  ever  seen  the 
light  of  this  world.  Without  being  conscious  of  it, 
they  apprehend  all  the  reality  which  has  an  existence 
for  them,  through  faith  alone;  and  this  faith  forces 
itself  on  them  simultaneously  with  their  existence; — 
it  is  born  with  them.  How  could  it  be  otherwise  ?  If 
in  mere  knowledge,  in  mere  perception  and  reflection, 
there  is  no  ground  for  regarding  our  mental  presen- 
tations as  more  than  mere  pictures  which  necessarily 
pass  before  our  view,  why  do  we  yet  regard  all  of 
them  as  more  than  this,  and  assume,  as  their  founda- 
tion, something  which  exists  independently  of  all  pres- 
entation? If  we  all  possess  the  capacity  and  the  in- 
stinct to  proceed  beyond  our  first  natural  view  of 
things,  why  do  so  few  actually  go  beyond  it,  and  why 
do  we  even  defend  ourselves,  with  a  sort  of  bitterness, 
from  every  motive  by  which  others  try  to  persuade  us 
to  this  course?  What  is  it  which  holds  us  confined 


102  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

within  this  first  natural  belief?  Not  inferences  of 
reason,  for  there  are  none  such;  it  is  the  interest  we 
have  in  a  reality  which  we  desire  to  produce; — the 
good,  absolutely  for  its  own  sake, — the  common  and 
sensuous,  for  the  sake  of  the  enjoyment  they  afford. 
No  one  who  lives  can  divest  himself  of  this  interest, 
and  just  as  little  can  he  cast  off  the  faith  which  this 
interest  brings  with  it.  We  are  all  born  in  faith ; — 
he  who  is  blind,  follows  blindly  the  secret  and  irre- 
sistible impulse;  he  who  sees,  follows  by  sight,  and 
believes  because  he  resolves  to  believe. 


What  unity  and  completeness  does  this  view  pre- 
sent!— what  dignity  does  it  confer  on  human  nature! 
Our  thought  is  not  founded  on  itself  alone,  independ- 
ently of  our  impulses  and  affections; — man  does  not 
consist  of  two  independent  and  separate  elements;  he 
is  absolutely  one.  All  our  thought  is  founded  on  our 
impulses; — as  a  man's  affections  are,  so  is  his  knowl- 
edge. These  impulses  compel  us  to  a  certain  mode  of 
thought  only  so  long  as  we  do  not  perceive  the  con- 
straint; the  constraint  vanishes  the  moment  it  is  per- 
ceived; and  it  is  then  no  longer  the  impulse  by  itself, 
but  we  ourselves,  according  to  our  impulse,  who  form 
our  own  system  of  thought. 

But  I  shall  open  my  eyes;  shall  learn  thoroughly  to 
know  myself;  shall  recognise  that  constraint; — this  is 
my  vocation.  I  shall  thus,  and  under  that  supposition 
I  shall  necessarily,  form  my  own  mode  of  thought. 
Then  I  shall  stand  absolutely  independent,  thoroughly 
equipt  and  perfected  through  my  own  act  and  deed. 
The  primitive  source  of  all  my  other  thought  and  of 
my  life  itself,  that  from  which  everything  proceeds 


BOOK  III.    FAITH.  103 

which  can  have  an  existence  in  me,  for  me,  or  through 
me,  the  innermost  spirit  of  my  spirit, — is  no  longer  a 
foreign  power,  but  it  is,  in  the  strictest  possible  sense, 
the  product  of  my  own  will.  I  am  wholly  my  own 
creation.  I  might  have  followed  blindly  the  leading 
of  my  spiritual  nature.  But  I  would  not  be  a  work 
of  Nature  but  of  myself,  and  I  have  become  so  even 
by  means  of  this  resolution.  By  endless  subtilties  I 
might  have  made  the  natural  conviction  of  my  own 
mind  dark  and  doubtful.  But  I  have  accepted  it  with 
freedom,  simply  because  I  resolved  to  accept  it.  I 
have  chosen  the  system  which  I  have  now  adopted 
with  settled  purpose  and  deliberation  from  among 
other  possible  modes  of  thought,  because  I  have  recog- 
nised in  it  the  only  one  consistent  with  my  dignity  and 
my  vocation.  With  freedom  and  consciousness  I  have 
returned  to  the  point  at  which  Nature  had  left  me.  I 
accept  that  which  she  announces ; — but  I  do  not  accept 
it  because  I  must ;  I  believe  it  because  I  will. 


The  exalted  vocation  of  my  understanding  fills  me 
with  reverence.  It  is  no  longer  the  deceptive  mirror 
which  reflects  a  series  of  empty  pictures,  proceeding 
from  nothing  and  tending  to  nothing;  it  is  bestowed 
upon  me  for  a  great  purpose.  Its  cultivation  for  this 
purpose  is  entrusted  to  me;  it  is  placed  in  my  hands, 
and  at  my  hands  it  will  be  required. — It  is  placed  in 
my  hands.  I  know  immediately, — and  here  my  faith 
accepts  the  testimony  of  my  consciousness  without  far- 
ther criticism, — I  know  that  I  am  not  placed  under 
the  necessity  of  allowing  my  thoughts  to  float  about 
without  direction  or  purpose,  but  that  I  can  voluntary 
arouse  and  direct  my  attention  to  one  object,  or  turn 


104  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

it  away  again  towards  another ; — know  that  it  is  neither 
a  blind  necessity  which  compels  me  to  a  certain  mode 
of  thought,  nor  an  empty  chance  which  runs  riot  with 
my  thoughts ;  but  that  it  is  I  who  think,  and  that  I  can 
think  of  that  whereof  I  determine  to  think.  Thus  by 
reflection  I  have  discovered  something  more;  I  have 
discovered  that  I  myself,  by  my  own  act  alone,,  produce 
my  whole  system  of  thought  and  the  particular  view 
which  I  take  of  truth  in  general ;  since  it  remains  with 
me  either  by  over-refinement  to  deprive  myself  of  all 
sense  of  truth,  or  to  yield  myself  to  it  with  faithful 
obedience.  My  whole  mode  of  thought,  and  the  cul- 
tivation which  my  understanding  receives,  as  well  as 
the  objects  to  which  F  direct  it,  depend  entirely  on 
myself.  True  insight  is  merit ;— the  perversion  of  my 
capacity  for  knowledge,  thoughtlessness,  obscurity, 
error,  and  unbelief,  are  guilt. 

There  is  but  one  point  towards  which  I  have  un- 
ceasingly to  direct  all  my  attention, — namely,  what  I 
ought  to  do,  and  how  I  may  best  fulfil  the  obligation. 
All  my  thoughts  must  have  a  bearing  on  my  actions, 
and  must  be  capable  of  being  considered  as  means, 
however  remote,  to  this  end;  otherwise  they  are  an 
idle  and  aimless  show,  a  mere  waste  of  time  and 
strength,  the  perversion  of  a  noble  power  which  is 
entrusted  to  me  for  a  very  different  end. 

I  dare  hope,  I  dare  surely  promise  myself,  to  follow 
out  this  undertaking  with  good  results.  The  Nature 
on  which  I  have  to  act  is  not  a  foreign  element,  called 
into  existence  without  reference  to  me,  into  which  I 
cannot  penetrate.  It  is  moulded  by  my  own  laws  of 
thought,  and  must  be  in  harmony  with  them ;  it  must 
be  thoroughly  transparent,  knowable  and  penetrable 
to  me,  even  to  its  inmost  recesses.  In  all  its  phenom- 


BOOK  III.    FAITH.  105 

ena  it  expresses  nothing  but  the  connexions  and  rela- 
tions of  my  own  being  to  myself;  and  as  surely  as  I 
may  hope  to  know  myself,  so  surely  may  I  expect  to 
comprehend  it.  Let  me  seek  only  that  which  I  ought 
to  seek,  and  I  shall  find ;  let  me  ask  only  that  which  I 
ought  to  ask,  and  I  shall  receive  an  answer. 


I. 

That  voice  within  my  soul  in  which  I  believe,  and 
on  account  of  which  I  believe  in  every  other  thing 
to  which  I  attach  credence,  does  not  command  me 
merely  to  act  in  general.  This  is  impossible ;  all  these 
general  principles  are  formed  only  through  my  own 
voluntary  observation  and  reflection,  applied  to  many 
individual  facts;  but  never  in  themselves  express  any 
fact  whatever.  This  voice  of  my  conscience  announces 
to  me  precisely  what  I  ought  to  do,  and  what  leave 
undone,  in  every  particular  situation  of  life ;  it  accom- 
panies me,  if  I  will  but  listen  to  it  with  attention, 
through  all  the  events  of  my  life,  and  never  refuses 
me  its  reward  where  I  am  called  upon  to  act.  It  car- 
ries with  it  immediate  conviction,  and  irresistibly  com- 
pels my  assent  to  its  behests : — it  is  impossible  for  me 
to  contend  against  it. 

To  listen  to  it,  to  obey  it  honestly  and  unreservedly, 
without  fear  or  equivocation, — this  is  my  true  vocation, 
the  whole  end  and  purpose  of  my  existence.  My  life 
ceases  to  be  an  empty  play  without  truth  or  significance. 
There  is  something  that  must  absolutely  be  done  for  its 
own  sake  alone ; — that  which  conscience  demands  of  me 
in  this  particular  situation  of  life  it  is  mine  to  do,  for 
this  only  I  am  here ; — to  know  it,  I  have  understanding ; 


io6  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

to  perform  it,  I  have  power.  Through  this  edict  of  con- 
science alone,  truth  and  reality  are  introduced  into  my 
conceptions.  I  cannot  refuse  them  my  attention  and 
my  obedience  without  thereby  surrendering  the  very 
purpose  of  my  existence. 

Hence  I  cannot  withhold  my  belief  from  the  reality 
which  they  announce,  without  at  the  same  time  re- 
nouncing my  vocation.  It  is  absolutely  true,  without 
farther  proof  or  confirmation, — nay,  it  is  the  first  truth, 
and  the  foundation  of  all  other  truth  and  certainty, 
that  this  voice  must  be  obeyed;  and  therefore  every- 
thing becomes  to  me  true  and  certain,  the  truth  and 
certainty  of  which  is  assumed  in  the  possibility  of  such 
obedience. 

There  appear  before  me  in  space,  certain  phenomena 
to  which  I  transfer  the  idea  of  myself ; — I  conceive  of 
them  as  beings  like  myself.  Speculation,  when  carried 
out  to  its  last  results,  has  indeed  taught  me,  or  would 
teach  me,  that  these  supposed  rational  beings  out  of 
myself  are  but  the  products  of  my  own  presentative 
power ;  that,  according  to  certain  laws  of  my  thought, 
I  am  compelled  to  represent  out  of  myself  my  con- 
ception of  myself;  and  that,  according  to  the  same 
laws,  I  can  transfer  this  conception  only  to  certain 
definite  intuitions.  But  the  voice  of  my  conscience 
thus  speaks : — "  Whatever  these  beings  may  be  in  and 
for  themselves,  thou  shalt  act  towards  them  as  self- 
existent,  free,  substantive  beings,  wholly  independent 
of  thee.  Assume  it  as  already  known,  that  they  can 
give  a  purpose  to  their  own  being  wholly  by  them- 
selves, and  quite  independently  of  thee;  never  inter- 
rupt the  accomplishment  of  this  purpose,  but  rather 
further  it  to  the  utmost  of  thy  power.  Honour  their 
freedom,  lovingly  take  up  their  purposes  as  if  they 


BOOK  III.    FAITH.  107 

were  thine  own."  Thus  ought  I  to  act : — by  this  course 
of  action  ought  all  my  thought  to  be  guided, — nay,  it 
shall  and  must  necessarily  be  so,  if  I  have  resolved  to 
obey  the  voice  of  my  conscience.  Hence  I  shall  always 
regard  these  beings  as  in  possession  of  an  existence  for 
themselves  wholly  independent  of  mine,  as  capable  of 
forming  and  carrying  out  their  own  purposes; — from 
this  point  of  view,  I  shall  never  be  able  to  conceive 
of  them  otherwise,  and  my  previous  speculations  re- 
garding them  shall  vanish  like  an  empty  dream. — I 
think  of  them  as  beings  like  myself,  I  have  said;  but 
strictly  speaking,  it  is  not  by  mere  thought  that  they 
are  first  presented  to  me  as  such.  It  is  by  the  voice 
of  my  conscience, — by  the  command : — "  Here  set  a 
limit  to  thy  freedom;  here  recognise  and  reverence 
purposes  which  are  not  thine  own."  This  it  is  which 
is  first  translated  into  the  thought,  "  Here,  certainly 
and  truly,  are  beings  like  myself,  free  and  independ- 
ent." To  view  them  otherwise,  I  must  in  action  re- 
nounce, and  in  speculation  disregard,  the  voice  of  my 
conscience. 

Other  phenomena  present  themselves  before  me 
which  I  do  not  regard  as  beings  like  myself,  but  as 
things  irrational.  Speculation  finds  no  difficulty  in 
showing  how  the  conception  of  such  things  is  devel- 
oped solely  from  my  own  presentative  faculty  and  its 
necessary  modes  of  activity.  But  I  apprehend  these 
things,  also,  through  want,  desire,  and  enjoyment. 
Not  by  the  mental  conception,  but  by  hunger,  thirst, 
and  their  satisfaction,  does  anything  become  for  me 
food  and  drink.  I  am  necessitated  to  believe  in  the 
reality  of  that  which  threatens  my  sensuous  existence, 
or  in  that  which  alone  is  able  to  maintain  it.  Con- 
science enters  the  field  in  order  that  it  may  at  once 


io8  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

sanctify  and  restrain  this  natural  impulse.  "  Thou 
shalt  maintain,  exercise,  and  strengthen  thyself  and 
thy  physical  powers,  for  they  have  been  taken  account 
of  in  the  plans  of  reason.  But  thou  canst  maintain 
them  only  by  legitimate  use,  conformable  to  their  na- 
ture. There  are  also,  besides  thee,  many  other  beings 
like  thyself,  whose  powers  have  been  counted  upon 
like  thine  own,  and  can  be  maintained  only  in  the 
same  way  as  thine  own.  Concede  to  them  the  same 
privilege  that  has  been  allowed  to  thee.  Respect  what 
belongs  to  them  as  their  possession  ; — use  what  belongs 
to  thee  legitimately  as  thine  own."  Thus  ought  I  to 
act, — according  to  this  course  of  action  must  I  think. 
I  am  compelled  to  regard  these  things  as  standing  un- 
der their  own  natural  laws,  independent  of,  though 
perceivable  by  me;  and  therefore  to  ascribe  to  them 
an  independent  existence.  I  am  compelled  to  believe 
*  in  such  laws;  the  task  of  investigating  them  is  set 
before  me,  and  that  empty  speculation  vanishes  like  a 
mist  when  the  genial  sun  appears. 

In  short,  there  is  for  me  absolutely  no  such  thing 
as  an  existence  which  has  no  relation  to  myself,  and 
which  I  contemplate  merely  for  the  sake  of  contem- 
plating it; — whatever  has  an  existence  for  me,  has  it 
only  through  its  relation  to  my  own  being.  But  there 
is,  in  the  highest  sense,  only  one  relation  to  me  pos- 
sible, all  others  are  but  subordinate  forms  of  this: — 
my  vocation  to  moral  activity.  My  world  is  the  ob- 
ject and  sphere  of  my  duties,  and  absolutely  nothing 
more;  there  is  no  other  world  for  me,  and  no  other 
qualities  of  my  world  than  what  are  implied  in  this ; — 
my  whole  united  capacity,  all  finite  capacity,  is  insuffi- 
cient to  comprehend  any  other.  Whatever  possesses 
an  existence  for  me,  can  bring  its  existence  and  reality 


BOOK  III.    FAITH.  109 

into  contact  with  me  only  through  this  relation,  and 
only  through  this  relation  do  I  comprehend  it: — for 
any  other  existence  than  this  I  have  no  organ  what- 
ever. 

To  the  question,  whether,  in  deed  and  in  fact,  such 
a  world  exists  as  that  which  I  represent  to  myself, 
I  can  give  no  answer  more  fundamental,  more  raised 
above  all  doubt,  than  this : — I  have  most  certainly  and 
truly,  these  determinate  duties,  which  announce  them- 
selves to  me  as  duties  towards  certain  objects,  to  be 
fulfilled  by  means  of  certain  materials; — duties  which 
I  cannot  otherwise  conceive  of,  and  cannot  otherwise 
fulfil,  than  within  such  a  world  as  I  represent  to  myself. 
Even  to  one  who  had  never  meditated  on  his  own 
moral  vocation,  if  there  could  be  such  a  one,  or  who, 
if  he  had  given  it  some  general  consideration,  had,  at 
least,  never  entertained  the  slightest  purpose  of  ful- 
filling it  at  any  time  within  an  indefinite  futurity, — 
even  for  him,  his  sensuous  world,  and  his  belief  in  its 
reality,  arises  in  no  other  manner  than  from  his  ideas 
of  a  moral  world.  If  he  do  not  apprehend  it  by  the 
thought  of  his  duties,  he  certainly  does  so  by  the  de- 
mand foV  his  rights.  What  he  perhaps  never  requires 
of  himself,  he  does  certainly  exact  from  others  in  their 
conduct  towards  him, — that  they  should  treat  him 
with  propriety,  consideration,  and  respect,  not  as  an 
irrational  thing,  but  as  a  free  and  independent  being ; — 
and  thus,  by  supposing  in  them  an  ability  to  comply 
with  his  own  demands,  he  is  compelled  also  to  regard 
them  as  themselves  considerate,  free,  and  independent 
of  the  dominion  of  mere  natural  power.  Even  should 
he  never  propose  to  himself  any  other  purpose  in  his 
use  and  enjoyment  of  surrounding  objects  but  simply 
that  of  enjoying  them,  he  at  least  demands  this  enjoy- 


i io  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

ment  as  a  right,  in  the  possession  of  which  he  claims 
to  be  left  undisturbed  by  others;  and  thus  he  appre- 
hends even  the  irrational  world  of  sense  by  means  of  a 
moral  idea.  These  claims  of  respect  for  his  ration- 
ality, independence,  and  preservation,  no  one  can  resign 
who  possesses  a  conscious  existence ;  and  with  these 
claims,  at  least,  there  is  united  in  his  soul,  earnestness, 
renunciation  of  doubt,  and  faith  in  a  reality,  even  if 
they  be  not  associated  with  the  recognition  of  a  moral 
law  within  him.  Take  the  man  who  denies  his  own 
moral  vocation,  and  thy  existence,  and  the  existence  of 
a  material  world,  except  as  a  mere  futile  effort  in  which 
speculation  tries  her  strength, — approach  him  practical- 
ly, apply  his  own  principles  to  life,  and  act  as  if  either 
he  had  no  existence  at  all,  or  were  merely  a  portion  of 
rude  matter, — he  will  soon  lay  aside  his  scornful  in- 
difference, and  indignantly  complain  of  thee ;  earnestly 
call  thy  attention  to  thy  conduct  towards  him;  main- 
tain that  thou  oughtst  not  and  darest  not  so  to  act; 
and  thus  prove  to  thee,  by  deeds,  that  thou  art  as- 
suredly capable  of  acting  upon  him;  that  he  is,  and 
that  thou  a/rt, — that  there  is  a  medium  by  which  thou 
canst  influence  him,  and  that  thou,  at  least,  hast  duties 
to  perform  towards  him. 

Thus,  it  is  not  the  operation  of  supposed  external 
objects,  which  indeed  exist  for  us,  and  we  for  them, 
only  in  so  far  as  we  already  know  of  them;  and  just 
as  little  an  empty  vision  evoked  by  our  own  imagina- 
tion and  thought,  the  products  of  which  must,  like 
itself,  be  mere  empty  pictures ; — it  is  not  these,  but  the 
necessary  faith  in  our  own  freedom  and  power,  in 
our  own  real  activity,  and  in  the  definite  laws  of  human 
action,  which  lies  at  the  root  of  all  our  consciousness 
of  a  reality  external  to  ourselves; — a  consciousness 


BOOK  III.    FAITH.  in 

which  is  itself  but  faith,  since  it  is  founded  on 
another  faith,  of  which  however  it  is  a  necessary  con- 
sequence. We  are  compelled  to  believe  that  we  act, 
and  that  we  ought  to  act  in  a  certain  manner;  we  are 
compelled  to  assume  a  certain  sphere  for  this  action; 
this  sphere  is  the  real,  actually  present  world,  such  as 
we  find  it ; — and  on  the  other  hand,  the  world  is  abso- 
lutely nothing  more  than,  and  cannot,  in  any  way,  ex- 
tend itself  beyond,  this  sphere.  From  this  necessity 
of  action  proceeds  the  consciousness  of  the  actual 
world ;  and  not  the  reverse  way,  from  the  conscious- 
ness of  the  actual  world  the  necessity  of  action : — this, 
not  that,  is  the  first;  the  former  is  derived  from  the 
latter.  We  do  not  act  because  we  know,  but  we  know 
because  we  are  called  upon  to  act: — the  practical  rea- 
son is  the  root  of  all  reason.  The  laws  of  action  for 
rational  beings  are  immediately  certain;  their  world 
is  certain  only  through  that  previous  certainty.  We 
cannot  deny  these  laws  without  plunging  the  world, 
and  ourselves  with  it,  into  absolute  annihilation ; — we 
raise  ourselves  from  this  abyss,  and  maintain  ourselves 
above  it,  solely  by  our  moral  activity. 


II. 

There  is  something  which  I  am  called  upon  to  do, 
simply  in  order  that  it  may  be  done;  something  to 
avoid  doing,  solely  that  it  may  be  left  undone.  But 
can  I  act  without  having  an  end  in  view  beyond  the 
action  itself,  without  directing  my  intention  towards 
something  which  can  become  possible  by  means  of  my 
action,  and  only  by  means  of  it  ?  Can  I  will,  without 
having  something  which  I  will?  No: — this  would  be 


iia  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

contradictory  to  the  very  nature  of  my  mind.  To 
every  action  there  is  united  in  my  thought,  immedi- 
ately and  by  the  laws  of  thought  itself,  a  condition  of 
things  placed  in  futurity,  to  which  my  action  is  re- 
lated as  the  efficient  cause  to  the  effect  produced.  But 
this  purpose  or  end  of  my  action  must  not  be  proposed 
to  me  for  its  own  sake, — perhaps  through  some  ne- 
cessity of  Nature, — and  then  my  course  of  action  de- 
termined according  to  this  end;  I  must  not  have  an 
end  assigned  to  me,  and  then  inquire  how  I  must  act 
in  order  to  attain  this  end;  my  action  must  not  be 
dependent  on  the  end;  but  I  must  act  in  a  certain 
manner,  simply  because  I  ought  so  to  act ; — this  is  the 
first  point.  That  a  result  will  follow  from  this  course 
of  action,  is  proclaimed  by  the  voice  within  me.  This 
result  necessarily  becomes  an  end  to  me,  since  I  am 
bound  to  perform  the  action  which  brings  it,  and  it 
alone,  to  pass.  I  will  that  something  shall  come  to 
pass,  because  I  must  act  so  that  it  may  come  to  pass ; — 
just  as  I  do  not  hunger  because  food  is  before  me 
but  a  thing  becomes  food  for  me  because  I  hunger,  so 
I  do  not  act  as  I  do  because  a  certain  end  is  to  be  at- 
tained, but  the  end  becomes  an  end  to  me  because  I  am 
bound  to  act  in  the  manner  by  which  it  may  be  at- 
tained. I  have  not  first  in  -view  the  point  towards 
which  I  am  to  draw  my  line,  and  then,  by  its  position, 
determine  the  direction  of  my  line  and  the  angle  it 
shall  make;  but  I  draw  my  line  absolutely  in  a  right 
angle,  and  thereby  the  points  are  determined  through 
which  my  line  must  pass.  The  end  does  not  deter- 
mine the  commandment ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  the  im- 
mediate purport  of  the  commandment  determines  the 
end. 

I  say,  it  is  the  law  which  commands  me  to  act  that 


BOOK  III.    FAITH.  113 

of  itself  assigns  an  end  to  my  action ;  the  same  inward 
power  that  compels  me  to  think  that  I  ought  to  act  thus, 
compels  me  also  to  believe  that  from  my  action  some 
result  will  arise;  it  opens  to- my  spiritual  vision  a  pros- 
pect into  another  world, — which  is  really  a  world,  a 
state,  namely,  and  not  an  action, — but  another  and 
better  world  than  that  which  is  present  to  the  physical 
eye;  it  constrains  me  to  aspire  after  this  better  world, 
to  embrace  it  with  every  power,  to  long  for  its  real- 
ization, to  live  only  in  it,  and  in  it  alone  find  satis- 
faction. The  law  itself  is  my  guarantee  for  the  cer- 
tain attainment  of  this  end.  The  same  resolution  by 
which  I  devote  my  whole  thought  and  life  to  the  ful- 
filment of  this  law,  and  determine  to  see  nothing  be- 
yond it,  brings  with  it  the  indestructible  conviction 
that  the  promise  it  implies  is  likewise  true  and  cer- 
tain, and  renders  it  impossible  for  me  even  to  conceive 
the  possibility  of  the  opposite.  As  I  live  in  obedience 
to  it,  so  do  I  live  also  in  the  contemplation  of  its  end, — 
in  that  better  world  which  it  promises  to  me. 


Even  in  the  mere  consideration  of  the  world  as  it  is, 
apart  from  this  law,  there  arises  within  me  the  wish, 
the  desire, — no,  not  the  mere  desire,  but  the  absolute 
demand  for  a  better  world.  I  cast  a  glance  on  the 
present  relations  of  men  towards  each  other  and 
towards  Nature ;  on  the  feebleness  of  their  powers,  the 
strength  of  their  desires  and  passions.  A  voice  within 
me  proclaims  with  irresistible  conviction — "  It  is  im- 
possible that  it  can  remain  thus ;  it  must  become  differ- 
ent and  better." 

I  cannot  think  of  the  present  state  of  humanity  as 
that  in  which  it  is  destined  to  remain ;  I  am  absolutely 


II4  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

unable  to  conceive  of  this  as  its  complete  and  final 
vocation.  Then,  indeed,  were  all  a  dream  and  a  de- 
lusion ;  and  it  would  not  be  worth  the  trouble  to  have 
lived,  and  played  out  this  ever-repeated  game,  which 
tends  to  nothing  and  signifies  nothing.  Only  in  so  far 
as  I  can  regard  this  state  as  the  means  towards  a  bet- 
ter, as  the  transition  point  to  a  higher  and  more  per- 
fect state,  has  it  any  value  in  my  eyes; — not  for  its 
own  sake,  but  for  the  sake  of  that  better  world  for 
which  it  prepares  the  way,  can  I  support  it,  esteem  it, 
and  joyfully  perform  my  part  in  it.  My  mind  can 
accept  no  place  in  the  present,  nor  rest  in  it  even  for 
a  moment;  my  whole  being  flows  onward,  incessantly 
and  irresistibly,  towards  that  future  and  better  state 
of  things. 

Shall  I  eat  and  drink  only  that  I  may  hunger  and 
thirst  and  eat  and  drink  again,  till  the  grave  which  is 
open  beneath  my  feet  shall  swallow  me  up  and  I  myself 
become  the  food  of  worms  ?  Shall.  I  beget  beings  like 
myself,  that  they  too  may  eat  and  drink  and  die,  and 
leave  behind  them  beings  like  themselves  to  do  the 
same  that  I  have  done?  To  what -purpose  this  ever- 
revolving  circle,  this  ceaseless  and  unvarying  round,  in 
which  all  things  appear  only  to  pass  away,  and  pass 
away  only  that  they  may  re-appear  as  they  were  be- 
fore;— this  monster  continually  devouring  itself  that 
it  may  again  bring  itself  forth,  and  bringing  itself 
forth  only  that  it  may  again  devour  itself? 

This  can  never  be  the  vocation  of  my  being,  an^ 
of  all  being.  There  must  be  something  which  is  be- 
cause it  has  come  into  existence;  and  endures,  and 
cannot  come  anew,  having  once  become  such  as  it  is. 
And  this  abiding  existence  must  be  produced  amid  the 
vicissitudes  of  the  transitory  and  perishable,  maintain 


BOOK  III.    FAITH.  115 

itself  there,  and  be  borne  onwards,  pure  and  inviolate, 
upon  the  waves  of  time. 

Our  race  still  laboriously  extorts  the  means  of  its 
subsistence  and  preservation  from  an  opposing  Nature. 
The  larger  portion  of  mankind  is  still  condemned 
through  life  to  severe  toil,  in  order  to  supply  nourish- 
ment for  itself  and  for  the  smaller  portion  which  thinks 
for  it ; — immortal  spirits  are  compelled  to  fix  their 
whole  thoughts  and  endeavours  on  the  earth  that 
brings  forth  their  food.  It  still  frequently  happens 
that,  when  the  labourer  has  finished  his  toil  and  has 
promised  himself  in  return  a  lasting  endurance  both 
for  himself  and  for  his  work,  a  hostile  element  will 
destroy  in  a  moment  that  which  it  has  cost  him  years 
of  patient  industry  and  deliberation  to  accomplish,  and 
the  assiduous  and  careful  man  is  undeservedly  made 
the  prey  of  hunger  and  misery; — often  do  floods, 
storms,  volcanoes,  desolate  whole  countries,  and  works 
which  bear  the  impress  of  a  rational  soul  are  mingled 
with  their  authors  in  the  wild  chaos  of  death  and  de- 
struction. Disease  sweeps  into  an  untimely  grave  men 
in  the  pride  of  their  strength,  and  children  whose 
existence  has  as  yet  borne  no  fruit ;  pestilence  stalks 
through  blooming  lands,  leaves  the  few  who  escape  its 
ravages  like  lonely  orphans  bereaved  of  the  accustomed 
support  of  their  fellows,  and  does  all  that  it  can  do  to 
give  back  to  the  desert  regions  which  the  labour  of 
man  has  won  from  thence  as  a  possession  to  himself. 
Thus  it  is  now,  but  thus  it  cannot  remain  for  ever.  No 
work  that  bears  the  stamp  of  Reason,  and  has  been 
undertaken  to  extend  her  power,  can  ever  be  wholly 
lost  in  the  onward  progress  of  the  ages.  The  sacrifices 
which  the  irregular  violence  of  Nature  extorts  from 
Reason,  must  at  least  exhaust,  disarm,  and  appease 


ii6  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

that  violence.  The  same  power  which  has  burst  out 
into  lawless  fury,  cannot  again  commit  like  excesses; 
it  catinot  be  destined  to  renew  its  strength ;  through 
its  own  outbreak  its  energies  must  henceforth  and  for 
ever  be  exhausted.  All  those  outbreaks  of  unregulated 
power  before  which  human  strength  vanishes  into 
nothing,  those  desolating  hurricanes,  those  earth- 
quakes, those  volcanoes,  can  be  nothing  else  than  the 
last  struggles  of  the  rude  mass  against  the  law  of  regu- 
lar, progressive,  living,  and  systematic  activity  to  which 
it  is  compelled  to  submit  in  opposition  to  its  own  undi- 
rected impulses; — nothing  but  the  last  shivering 
strokes  by  which  the  perfect  formation  of  our  globe 
has  yet  to  be  accomplished.  That  resistance  must 
gradually  become  weaker  and  at  length  be  exhausted, 
since,  in  the  regulated  progress  of  things,  there  can 
be  nothing  to  renew  its  strength ;  that  formation  must 
at  length  be  achieved,  and  our  destined  dwelling-place 
be  made  complete.  Nature  must  gradually  be  resolved 
into  a  condition  in  which  her  regular  action  may  be 
calculated  and  safely  relied  upon,  and  her  power  bear 
a  fixed  and  definite  relation  to  that  which  is  destined 
to  govern  it, — that  of  man.  In  so  far  as  this  relation 
already  exists,  and  the  cultivation  of  Nature  has  at- 
tained a  firm  footing,  the  works  of  man,  by  their  mere 
existence,  and  by  an  influence  altogether  beyond  the 
original  intent  of  their  authors,  shall  again  react  upon 
Nature,  and  become  to  her  a  new  vivifying  principle. 
Cultivation  shall  quicken  and  ameliorate  the  sluggish 
and  baleful  atmosphere  of  primeval  forests,  deserts, 
and  marshes ;  more  regular  and  varied  cultivation  shall 
diffuse  throughout  the  air  new  impulses  to  life  and 
fertility ;  and  the  sun  shall  pour  his  most  animating 
rays  into  an  atmosphere  breathed  by  healthful,  indus- 


BOOK  111.    FAITH.  117 

trious,  and  civilized  nations.  Science,  first  called  into 
existence  by  the  pressure  of  necessity,  shall  afterwards 
calmly  and  carefully  investigate  the  unchangeable  laws 
of  Nature,  review  its  powers  at  large,  and  learn  to  cal- 
culate their  possible  manifestations;  and  while  closely 
following  the  footsteps  of  Nature  in  the  living  and 
actual  world,  form  for  itself  in  thought  a  new  ideal 
one.  Every  discovery  which  Reason  has  extorted  from 
Nature  shall  be  maintained  throughout  the  ages,  and 
become  the  ground  of  new  knowledge,  for  the  com- 
mon possession  of  our  race.  Thus  shall  Nature  ever 
become  more  and  more  intelligible  and  transparent 
even  in  her  most  secret  depths ;  human  power,  en- 
lightened and  armed  by  human  invention,  shall  rule 
over  her  without  difficulty,  and  the  conquest,  once 
made,  shall  be  peacefully  maintained.  This  dominion 
of  man  over  Nature  shall  gradually  be  extended,  until, 
at  length,  no  farther  expenditure  of  mechanical  la- 
bour shall  be  necessary  than  what  the  human  body  re- 
quires for  its  development,  cultivation,  and  health; 
and  this  labour  shall  cease  to  be  a  burden ; — for  a  rea- 
sonable being  is  not  destined  to  be  a  bearer  of  bur- 
dens. 

But  it  is  not  Nature,  it  is  Freedom  itself,  by  which 
the  greatest  and  most  terrible  disorders  incident  to  our 
race  are  produced ;  man  is  the  crudest  enemy  of  man. 
Lawless  hordes  of  savages  still  wander  over  vast  wil- 
dernesses;— they  meet,  and  the  victor  devours  his  foe 
at  the  triumphal  feast : — or  where  culture  has  at  length 
united  these  wild  hordes  under  some  social  bond,  they 
attack  each  other,  as  nations,  with  the  power  which 
law  and  union  have  given  them.  Defying  toil  and 
privation,  their  armies  traverse  peaceful  plains  and  for- 
ests;— they  meet  each  other,  and  the  sight  of  their 


ii8  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

brethren  is  the  signal  for  slaughter.  Equipt  with  the 
mightiest  inventions  of  the  human  intellect,  hostile 
fleets  plough  their  way  through  the  ocean ;  through 
storm  and  tempest  man  rushes  to  meet  his  fellow  men 
upon  the  lonely  inhospitable  sea ; — they  meet,  and  defy 
the  fury  of  the  elements  that  they  may  destroy  each 
other  with  their  own  hands.  Even  in  the  interior  of 
states,  where  men  seem  to  be  united  in  equality  under 
the  law,  it  is  still  for  the  most  part  only  force  and 
fraud  which  rule  under  that  venerable  name ;  and  here 
the  warfare  is  so  much  the  more  shameful  that  it  is 
not  openly  declared  to  be  war,  and  the  party  attacked 
is  even  deprived  of  the  privilege  of  defending  him- 
self against  unjust  oppression.  Combinations  of  the 
few  rejoice  aloud  in  the  ignorance,  the  folly,  the  vice, 
and  the  misery  in  which  the  greater  number  of  their 
fellow-men  are  sunk,  avowedly  seek  to  retain  them  in 
this  state  of  degradation,  and  even  to  plunge  them 
deeper  in  it  in  order  to  perpetuate  their  slavery ; — nay, 
would  destroy  any  one  who  should  venture  to  enlighten 
or  improve  them.  No  attempt  at  amelioration  can 
anywhere  be  made  without  rousing  up  from  slumber  a 
host  of  selfish  interests  to  war  against  it,  and  uniting 
even  the  most  varied  and  opposite  in  a  common  hos- 
tility. The  good  cause  is  ever  the  weaker,  for  it  is 
simple,  and  can  be  loved  only  for  itself;  the  bad  at- 
tracts each  individual  by  the  promise  which  is  most 
seductive  to  him;  and  its  adherents,  always  at  war 
among  themselves,  so  soon  as  the  good  makes  its  ap- 
pearance, conclude  a  truce  that  they  may  unite  the 
whole  powers  of  their  wickedness  against  it.  Scarcely, 
indeed,  is  such  an  opposition  needed,  for  even  the  good 
themselves  are  but  too  often  divided  by  misunderstand- 
ing, error,  distrust,  and  secret  self-love,  and  that  so 


BOOK  III.    FAITH.  119 

much  the  more  violently,  the  more  earnestly  each 
strives  to  propagate  that  which  he  recognizes  as  best ; 
and  thus  internal  discord  dissipates  a  power,  which, 
even  when  united,  could  scarcely  hold  the  balance  with 
evil.  One  blames  the  other  for  rushing  onwards  with 
stormy  impetuosity  to  his  object,  without  waiting  until 
the  good  result  shall  have  been  prepared;  whilst  he  in 
turn  is  blamed  that,  through  hesitation  and  cowardice, 
he  accomplishes  nothing,  but  allows  all  things  to  re- 
main as  they  are,  contrary  to  his  better  conviction,  be- 
cause for  him  the  hour  of  action  never  arrives : — and 
only  the  Omniscient  can  determine  whether  either  of 
the  parties  in  the  dispute  is  in  the  right.  Every  one  re- 
gards the  undertaking,  the  necessity  of  which  is  most 
apparent  to  him,  and  in  the  prosecution  of  which  he 
has  acquired  the  greatest  skill,  as  most  important  and 
needful, — as  the  point  from  which  all  improvement 
must  proceed ;  he  requires  all  good  men  to  unite  their 
efforts  with  his,  and  to  subject  themselves  to  him  for 
the  accomplishment  of  his  particular  purpose,  holding 
it  to  be  treason  to  the  good  cause  if  they  hold  back ; — 
while  they  on  the  other  hand  make  the  same 
demands  upon  him,  and  accuse  him  of  similar  treason 
for  a  similar  refusal.  Thus  do  all  good  intentions 
among  men  appear  to  be  lost  in  vain  disputations, 
which  leave  behind  them  no  trace  of  their  existence; 
while  in  the  meantime  the  world  goes  on  as  well,  or 
as  ill,  as  it  can  without  human  effort,  by  the  blind 
mechanism  of  Nature,— and  so  will  go  on  for  ever. 


And  so  go  on  for  ever? — No; — not  so,  unless  the 
whole  existence  of  humanity  is  to  be  an  idle  game, 
without  significance  and  without  end.  It  cannot  be 


120  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

intended  that  those  savage  tribes  should  always  re- 
main savage;  no  race  can  be  born  with  all  the  ca- 
pacities of  perfect  humanity,  and  yet  be  destined  never 
to  develop  these  capacities,  never  to  become  more  than 
that  which  a  sagacious  animal  by  its  own  proper  na- 
ture might  become.  Those  savages  must  be  destined 
to  be  the  progenitors  of  more  powerful,  cultivated, 
and  virtuous  generations; — otherwise  it  is  impossible 
to  conceive  of  a  purpose  in  their  existence,  or  even  of 
the  possibility  of  their  existence  in  a  world  ordered 
and  arranged  by  reason.  Savage  races  may  become 
civilized,  for  this  has  already  occurred ; — the  most  cul- 
tivated nations  of  modern  times  are  the  descendants 
of  savages.  Whether  civilization  is  a  direct  and  nat- 
ural development  of  human  society,  or  is  invariably 
brought  about  through  instruction  and  example  from 
without,  and  the  primary  source  of  #11  human  culture 
must  be  sought  in  a  superhuman  guidance, — by  the 
same  way  in  which  nations  which  once  were  savage 
have  emerged  into  civilization,  will  those  who  are  yet 
uncivilized  gradually  attain  it.  They  must,  no  doubt, 
at  first  pass  through  the  same  dangers  and  corruptions 
of  a  merely  sensual  civilization,  by  which  the  civil- 
ized nations  are  still  oppressed,  but  they  will  thereby 
be  brought  into  union  with  the  great  whole  of  hu- 
manity and  be  made  capable  of  taking  part  in  its 
further  progress. 

It  is  the  vocation  of  our  race  to  unite  itself  into  one 
single  body,  all  the  parts  of  which  shall  be  thoroughly 
known  to  each  other,  and  all  possessed  of  similar  cul- 
ture. Nature,  and  even  the  passions  and  vices  of 
men,  have  from  the  beginning  tended  towards  this 
end;  a  great  part  of  the  way  towards  it  is  already 
passed,  and  we  may  surely  calculate  that  this  end, 


BOOK  III.    FAITH.  121 

which  is  the  condition  of  all  farther  social  progress, 
will  in  time  be  attained!  .Let  us  not  ask  of  history  if 
man,  on  the  whole,  have  yet  become  purely  moral  1 
To  a  more  extended,  comprehensive,  energetic  free- 
dom he  has  certainly  attained ;  but  hitherto  it  has  been 
an  almost  necessary  result  of  his  position,  that  this 
freedom  has  been  applied  chiefly  to  evil  purposes. 
Neither  let  us  ask  whether  the  aesthetic  and  intel- 
lectual culture  of  the  ancient  world,  concentrated  on 
a  few  points,  may  not  have  excelled  in  degree  that  of 
modern  times!  It  might  happen  that  we  should  re- 
ceive a  humiliating  answer,  and  that  in  this  respect 
the  human  race  has  not  advanced,  but  rather  seemed 
to  retrograde,  in  its  riper  years.  But  let  us  ask  of 
history  at  what  period  the  existing  culture  has  been 
most  widely  diffused,  and  distributed  among  the 
greatest  number  of  individuals;  and  we  shall  doubt- 
less find  that  from  the  beginning  of  history  down  to 
our  own  day,  the  few  light-points  of  Civilization  have 
spread  themselves  abroad  from  their  centre,  tha*t  one 
individual  after  another,  and  one  nation  after  another, 
has  been  embraced  within  their  circle,  and  that  this 
wider  outspread  of  culture  is  proceeding  under  our 
own  eyes.  And  this  is  the  first  point  to  be  attained 
in  the  endless  path  on  which  humanity  must  advance. 
Until  this  shall  have  been  attained,  until  the  existing 
culture  of  every  age  shall  have  been  diffused  over  the 
whole  inhabited  globe,  and  our  race  becomes  capable 
of  the  most  unlimited  inter-communication  with  itself, 
one  nation  or  one  continent  must  pause  on  the  great 
common  path  of  progress,  and  wait  for  the  advance 
of  the  others;  and  each  must  bring  as  an  offering 
to  the  universal  commonwealth,  for  the  sake  of  which 
alone  it  exists,  its  ages  of  apparent  immobility  or 


122  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

retrogression.  When  that  first  point  shall  have  been 
attained,  when  every  useful  discovery  made  at  one 
end  of  the  earth  shall  be  at  once  made  known  and 
communicated  to  all  the  rest,  then,  without  farther 
interruption,  without  halt  or  regress,  with  united 
strength  and  equal  step,  humanity  shall  move  onward 
to  a  higher  culture,  of  which  we  can  at  present  form 
no  conception. 

Within  those  singular  associations,  thrown  together 
by  unreasoning  accident,  which  we  call  States, — after 
they  have  subsisted  for  a  time  in  peace,  when  the  re- 
sistance excited  by  yet  new  oppression  has  been  lulled 
to  sleep,  and  the  fermentation  of  contending  forces 
appeased, — abuse,  by  its  continuance,  and  by  general 
sufferance,  assumes  a  sort  of  established  form ;  and 
the  ruling  classes,  in  the  uncontested  enjoyment  of 
their  extorted  privileges,  have  nothing  more  to  do 
but  to  extend  them  further,  and  to  give  to  this  ex- 
tension also  the  same  established  form.  Urged  by 
their  insatiable  desires,  they  will  continue  from  gen- 
eration to  generation  their  efforts  to  acquire  wider 
and  yet  wider  privileges,  and  never  say  "  It  is 
enough !  "  until  at  last  oppression  shall  reach  its  limit, 
and  become  wholly  insupportable,  and  despair  give 
back  to  the  oppressed^that  power  which  their  courage, 
extinguished  by  centuries  of  tyranny,  could  not  pro- 
cure for  them.  They  will  then  no  longer  endure  any 
among  them  who  cannot  be  satisfied  to  be  on  an  equal- 
ity with  others,  and  so  to  remain.  In  order  to  pro- 
tect themselves  against  internal  violence  or  new 
oppression,  all  will  take  on  themselves  the  same  obliga- 
tions. Their  deliberations,  in  which  every  man  shall 
decide,  whatever  he  decides,  for  himself,  and  not  for 
one  subject  to  him  whose  sufferings  will  never  affect 


BOOK  III.    FAITH.  123 

him,  and  in  whose  fate  he  takes  no  concern; — delib- 
erations, according  to  which  no  one  can  hope  that  it 
shall  be  he  who  is  to  practise  a  permitted  injustice, 
but  every  one  must  fear  that  he  may  have  to  suffer 
it; — deliberations  that  alone  deserve  the  name  of  leg- 
islation, which  is  something  wholly  different  from  the 
ordinances  of  combined  lords  to  the  countless  herds  of 
their  slaves; — these  deliberations  will  necessarily  be 
guided  by  justice,  and  will  lay  the  foundation  of  a  true 
State,  in  which  each  individual,  from  a  regard  for  his 
own  security,  will  be  irresistibly  compelled  to  respect 
the  security  of  every  other  without  exception;  since, 
under  the  supposed  legislation,  every  injury  which 
he  should  attempt  to  do  to  another,  would  not  fall 
upon  its  object,  but  would  infallibly  recoil  upon  him- 
self. 

By  the  establishment  of  this  only  true  State,  this 
firm  foundation  of  internal  peace,  the  possibility  of 
foreign  war,  at  least  with  other  true  States,  is  cut  off. 
Even  for  its  own  advantage,  even  to  prevent  the 
thought  of  injustice,  plunder  and  violence  entering 
the  minds  of  its  own  citizens,  and  to  leave  them  no 
possibility  of  gain,  except  by  means  of  industry  and 
diligence  within  their  legitimate  sphere  of  activity, 
every  true  state  must  forbid  as  strictly,  prevent  as 
carefully,  compensate  as  exactly,  or  punish  as  se- 
verely, any  injury  to  the  citizen  of  a  neighbouring 
state,  as  to  one  of  its  own.  The  law  concerning  the 
security  of  neighbours  is  necessarily  a  law  in  every 
state  that  is  not  a  robber-state;  and  by  its  operation 
the  possibility  of  any  just  complaint  of  one  state 
against  another,  and  consequently  every  case  of  self- 
defence  among  nations,  is  entirely  prevented.  There 
are  no  necessary,  permanent,  and  immediate  relations 


124  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

of  states,  as  such,  with  each  other,  which  should  be 
productive  of  strife ;  there  are,  properly  speaking,  only 
relations  of  the  individual  citizens  of  one  state  to  the 
individual  citizens  of  another;  a  state  can  be  injured 
only  in  the  person  of  one  of  its  citizens;  but  such 
injury  will  be  immediately  compensated  and  the  ag- 
grieved state  satisfied.  Between  such  states  as  these, 
there  is  no  rank  which  can  be  insulted,  no  ambition 
which  can  be  offended.  No  officer  of  one  state  is 
authorised  to  intermeddle  in  the  internal  affairs  ol 
another,  nor  is  there  any  temptation  for  him  to  do  so, 
since  he  could  not  derive  the  slightest  personal  ad- 
vantage from  any  such  influence.  That  a  whole  na- 
tion should  determine,  for  the  sake  of  plunder,  to 
make  war  on  a  neighbouring  country,  is  impossible; 
for  in  a  state  where  all  are  equal,  the  plunder  could 
not  become  the  booty  of  a  few,  but  must  be  equally 
divided  amongst  all,  and  the  share  of  no  one  individ- 
ual could  ever  recompense  him  for  the  trouble  of  the 
war.  Only  where  the  advantage  falls  to  the  few 
oppressors,  and  the  injury,  the  toil,  the  expense,  to 
the  countless  herd  of  slaves,  is  a  war  of  spoliation 
possible  and  conceivable.  Not  from  states  like  them- 
selves could  such  states  as  these  entertain  any  fear  of 
war;  only  from  savages,  or  barbarians  whose  lack 
of  skill  to  enrich  themselves  by  industry  impels  them 
to  plunder ;  or  from  enslaved  nations,  driven  by  their 
masters  to  a  war  from  which  they  themselves  will 
reap  no  advantage.  In  the  former  case,  each  indi- 
vidual civilized  state  must  already  be  the  stronger 
through  the  arts  of  civilization;  against  the  latter 
danger,  the  common  advantage  of  all  demands  that 
they  should  strengthen  themselves  by  union.  No  free 
state  can  reasonably  suffer  in  its  vicinity  associations 


BOOK  III.    FAITH.  125 

governed  by  rulers  whose  interests  would  be  pro- 
moted by  the  subjugation  of  adjacent  nations,  and 
whose  very  existence  is  therefore  a  constant  source 
of  danger  to  their  neighbours ;  a  regard  for  their  own 
security  compels  all  free  states  to  transform  all  around 
them  into  free  states  like  themselves;  and  thus,  for 
the  sake  of  their  own  welfare,  to  extend  the  empire 
of  culture  over  barbarism,  of  freedom  over  slavery. 
Soon  will  the  nations,  civilized  or  enfranchised  by 
them,  find  themselves  placed  in  the  same  relation 
towards  others  still  enthralled  by  barbarism  or  slavery, 
in  which  the  earlier  free  nations  previously  stood 
towards  them,  and  be  compelled  to  do  the  same  things 
for  these  which  were  previously  done  for  themselves; 
and  thus,  of  necessity,  by  reason  of  the  existence  of 
some  few  really  free  states,  will  the  empire  of  civil- 
ization, freedom,  and  with  it  universal  peace,  grad- 
ually embrace  the  whole  world. 

Thus,  from  the  establishment  of  a  just  internal 
organization,  and  of  peace  between  individuals,  there 
will  necessarily  result  integrity  in  the  external  rela- 
tions of  nations  towards  each  other,  and  universal 
peace  among  them.  But  the  establishment  of  this  just 
internal  organization,  and  the  emancipation  of  the 
first  nation  that  shall  be  truly  free,  arises  as  a  neces- 
sary consequence  from  the  ever-growing  oppression 
exercised  by  the  ruling  classes  towards  their  subjects, 
which  gradually  becomes  insupportable, — a  progress 
which  may  be  safely  left  to  the  passions  and  the  blind- 
ness of  those  classes,  even  although  warned  of  the 
result. 

In  these  only  true  states  all  temptation  to  evil,  nay, 
even  the  possibility  of  a  man  resolving  upon  a  bad 
action  with  any  reasonable  hope  of  benefit  to  himself, 


126  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

will  be  entirely  taken  away ;  and  the  strongest  possible 
motives  will  be  offered  to  every  man  to  make  virtue 
the  sole  object  of  his  will. 

There  is  no  man  who  loves  evil  because  it  is  evil; 
it  is  only  the  advantages  and  enjoyments  expected 
from  it,  and  which,  in  the  present  condition  of  hu- 
manity, do  actually,  in  most  cases,  result  from  it,  that 
are  loved.  So  long  as  this  condition  shall  continue, 
so  long  as  a  premium  shall  be  set  'upon  vice,  a  funda- 
mental improvement  of  mankind,  as  a  whole,  can 
scarcely  be  hoped  for.  But  in  a  civil  society  consti- 
tuted as  it  ought  to  be,  as  reason  requires  it  to  be,  as 
the  thinker  may  easily  describe  it  to  himself  although 
he  may  nowhere  find  it  actually  existing  at  the  present 
day,  and  as  it  must  necessarily  exist  in  the  first  nation 
that  shall  really  acquire  true  freedom, — in  such  a  state 
of  society,  evil  will  present  no  advantages,  but  rather 
the  most  certain  disadvantages,  and  self-love  itself 
will  restrain  the  excess  of  self-love  when  it  would  run 
out  into  injustice.  By  the  unerring  administration  of 
such  a  state,  every  fraud  or  oppression  practised  upon 
others,  all  self-aggrandizement  at  their  expense,  will 
be  rendered  not  merely  vain,  and  all  labour  so  applied 
fruitless,  but  such  attempts  would  even  recoil  upon 
their  author,  and  assuredly  bring  home  to  himself  the 
evil  which  he  would  cause  to  others.  In  his  own 
land, — out  of  his  own  land, — throughout  the  whole 
world,  he  could  find  no  one  whom  he  might  injure 
and  yet  go  unpunished.  But  it  is  not  to  be  expected, 
even  of  a  bad  man,  that  he  would  determine  upon 
evil  merely  for  the  sake  of  such  a  resolution,  although 
he  had  no  power  to  carry  it  into  effect,  and  nothing 
could  arise  from  it  but  infamy  to  himself.  The  use 
of  liberty  for  evil  purposes  is  thus  destroyed;  man 


BOOK  III.    FAITH.  127 

must  resolve  either  to  renounce  his  freedom  alto- 
gether, and  patiently  to  become  a  mere  passive  wheel 
in  the  great  machine  of  the  universe,  or  else  to  employ 
it  for  good.  In  soil  thus  prepared,  good  will  easily 
prosper.  When  men  shall  no  longer  be  divided  by 
selfish  purposes,  nor  their  powers  exhausted  in  strug- 
gles with  each  other,  nothing  will  remain  for  them 
but  to  direct  their  united  strength  against  the  one  com- 
mon enemy  which  still  remains  unsubdued, — resisting, 
uncultivated  nature.  No  longer  estranged  from  each 
other  by  private  ends,  they  will  necessarily  combine 
for  this  common  object;  and  thus  there  arises  a  body, 
everywhere  animated  by  the  same  spirit  and  the  same 
love.  Every  misfortune  to  the  individual,  since  it  can 
no  longer  be  a  gain  to  any  other  individual,  is  a  mis- 
fortune to  the  whole,  and  to  each  individual  member 
of  the  whole ;  and  is  felt  with  the  same  pain,  and 
remedied  with  the  same  activity,  by  every  member; — • 
every  step  in  advance  made  by  one  man  is  a  step  in 
advance  made  by  the  whole  race.  Here,  where  the 
petty,  narrow  self  of  mere  individual  personality  is 
merged  in  the  more  comprehensive  unity  of  the  social 
constitution,  each  man  truly  loves  every  other  as  him- 
self,— as  a  member  of  this  greater  self  which  now 
claims  all  his  love,  and  of  which  he  himself  is  no  more 
than  a  member,  capable  of  participating  only  in  a 
common  gain  or  in  a  common  loss.  The  strife  of 
evil  against  good  is  here  abolished,  for  here  no  evil 
can  intrude.  The  strife  of  the  good  among  them- 
selves for  the  sake  of  good,  disappears,  now  that  they 
find  it  easy  to  love  good  for  its  own  sake  alone  and 
not  because  they  are  its  authors;  now  that  it  has  be- 
come of  all-importance  to  them  that  the  truth  should 
really  be  discovered,  that  the  useful  action  should  be 


128  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

done, — but  not  at  all  by  whom  this  may  be  accom- 
plished. Here  each  individual  is  at  all  times  ready 
to  join  his  strength  to  that  of  others,  to  make  it 
subordinate  to  that  of  others;  and  whoever,  accord- 
ing to  the  judgment  of  all,  is  most  capable  of  ac- 
complishing the  greatest  amount  of  good,  will  be 
supported  by  all,  and  his  success  rejoiced  in  by  all 
with  an  equal  joy. 


This  is  the  purpose  of  our  earthly  life,  which  reason 
sets  before  us,  and  for  the  infallible  attainment  of 
which  she  is  our  pledge  and  security.  This  is  not  an 
object  given  to  us  only  that  we  may  strive  after  it  for 
the  mere  purpose  of  exercising  our  powers  on  some- 
thing great,  the  real  existence  of  which  we  may  per- 
haps be  compelled  to  abandon  to  doubt; — it  shall,  it 
must  be  realized;  there  must  be  a  time  in  which  it 
shall  be  accomplished,  as  surely  as  there  is  a  sensible 
world  and  a  race  of  reasonable  beings  existent  in  time 
with  respect  to  which  nothing  earnest  and  rational 
is  conceivable  besides  this  purpose,  and  whose  existence 
becomes  intelligible  only  through  this  purpose.  Un- 
less all  human  life  be  metamorphosed  into  a  mere  the- 
atrical display  for  the  gratification  of  some  malignant 
spirit,  who  has  implanted  in  poor  humanity  this  inex- 
tinguishable longing  for  the  imperishable  only  to  amuse 
himself  with  its  ceaseless  pursuit  of  that  which  it  can 
never  overtake, — its  ever-repeated  efforts,  Ixion-like, 
to  embrace  that  which  still  eludes  its  grasp, — its  rest- 
less hurrying  onward  in  an  ever-recurring  circle, — 
only  to  mock  its  earnest  aspirations  with  an  empty, 
insipid  farce; — unless  the  wise  man,  seeing  through 
this  mockery,  and  feeling  an  irrepressible  disgust  at 


BOOK  III.    FAITH.  129 

continuing  to  play  his  part  in  it,  is  to  cast  life  indig- 
nantly from  him  and  make  the  moment  of  his  awak- 
ening to  reason  also  that  of  his  physical  death ; — unless 
these  things  are  so  this  purpose  most  assuredly  must 
be  attained. — Yes !  it  is  attainable  in  life,  and  through 
life,  for  Reason  commands  me  to  live: — it  is  attain- 
able, for  I  am. 


III. 

But  when  this  end  shall  have  been  attained,  and 
humanity  shall  at  length  stand  at  this  point,  what  is 
there  then  to  do?  Upon  earth  there  is  no  higher 
state  than  this; — the  generation  which  has  once 
reached  it,  can  no  more  than  abide  there,  steadfastly 
maintain  its  position,  die,  and  leave  behind  it  descend- 
ants who  shall  do  the  like,  and  who  will  again  leave 
behind  them  descendants  to  follow  in  their  footsteps. 
Humanity  would  thus  stand  still  upon  her  path;  and 
therefore  her  earthly  end  cannot  be  her  highest  end. 
This  earthly  end  is  conceivable,  attainable,  and  finite. 
Even  although  we  consider  all  preceding  generations 
as  means  for  the  production  of  the  last  complete  one, 
we  do  not  thereby  escape  the  question  of  earnest  rea- 
son,— to  what  end  then  is  this  last  one?  Since  a 
Human  Race  has  appeared  upon  earth,  its  existence 
there  must  certainly  be  in  accordance  with,  and  not 
contrary  to,  reason;  and  it  must  attain  all  the  devel- 
opment which  it  is  possible  for  it  to  attain  on  earth. 
But  why  should  such  a  race  have  an  existence  at  all, — 
why  may  it  not  as  well  have  remained  in  the  womb 
of  chaos?  Reason  it  not  for  the  sake  of  existence, 
but  existence  for  the  sake  of  reason.  An  existence 


130  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

which  does  not  of  itself  satisfy  reason  and  solve  all 
her  questions,  cannot  by  possibility  be  the  true  being. 

And,  then,  are  those  actions  which  are  commanded 
by  the  voice  of  conscience, — by  that  voice  whose  dic- 
tates I  never  dare  to  criticise,  but  must  always  obey 
in  silence, — are  those  actions,  in  reality,  always  the 
means,  and  the  only  means,  for  the  attainment  of  the 
earthly  purpose  of  humanity?  That  I  cannot  do 
otherwise  than  refer  them  to  this  purpose,  and  dare 
not  have  any  other  object  in  view  to  be  attained  by 
means  of  them,  is  incontestible.  But  then  are  these, 
my  intentions,  always  fulfilled? — is  it  enough  that  we 
will  what  is  good,  in  order  that  it  may  happen  ?  Alas ! 
many  virtuous  intentions  are  entirely  lost  for  this 
world,  and  others  appear  even  to  hinder  the  purpose 
which  they  were  designed  to  promote.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  most  despicable  passions  of  men,  their  vices 
and  their  crimes,  often  forward,  more  certainly,  the 
good  cause  than  the  endeavours  of  the  virtuous  man, 
who  will  never  do  evil  that  good  may  come !  It  seems 
that  the  Highest  Good  of  the  world  pursues  its  course 
of  increase  and  prosperity  quite  independently  of  all 
human  virtues  or  vices,  according  to  its  own  laws, 
through  an  invisible  and  unknown  Power, — just  as  the 
heavenly  bodies  run  their  appointed  course,  independ- 
ently of  all  human  effort ;  and  that  this  Power  carries 
forward,  in  its  own  great  plan,  all  human  intentions, 
good  and  bad,  and  with  overruling  wisdom,  employs 
for  its  own  purpose  that  which  was  undertaken  for 
other  ends. 

Thus,  even  if  the  attainment  of  this  earthly  end 
could  be  the  purpose  of  our  existence,  and  every  doubt 
which  reason  could  start  with  regard  to  it  were 
silenced,  yet  would  this  end  not  be  ours,  but  the  end 


BOOK  III.    FAITH.  131 

of  that  unknown  power.  We  do  not  know,  even  for 
a  moment,  what  is  conducive  to  this  end;  and  noth- 
ing is  left  to  us  but  to  give  by  our  actions  some  ma- 
terial, no  matter  what,  for  this  power  to  work  upon, 
and  to  leave  to  it  the  task  of  elaborating  this  material 
to  its  own  purposes.  It  would,  in  that  case,  be  our 
highest  wisdom  not  to  trouble  ourselves  about  matters 
that  do  not  concern  us ;  to  live  according  to  our  own 
fancy  or  inclinations,  and  quietly  leave  the  conse- 
quences to  that  unknown  power.  The  moral  law 
within  us  would  be  void  and  superfluous,  and  abso- 
lutely unfitted  to  a  being  destined  to  nothing  higher 
than  this.  In  order  to  be  at  one  with  ourselves,  we 
should  have  to  refuse  obedience  to  that  law,  and  to 
suppress  it  as  a  perverse  and  foolish  fanaticism. 


No ! — I  will  not  refuse  obedience  to  the  law  of  duty ; 
as  surely  as  I  live  and  am,  I  will  obey,  absolutely  be- 
cause it  commands.  This  resolution  shall  be  first  and 
highest  in  my  mind;  that  by  which  everything  else 
is  determined,  but  which  is  itself  determined  by  noth- 
ing else; — this  shall  be  the  innermost  principle  of  my 
spiritual  life. 

But,  as  a  reasonable  being,  before  whom  a  purpose 
must  be  set  solely  by  its  own  will  and  determination, 
it  is  impossible  for  me  to  act  without  a  motive  and 
without  an  end.  If  this  obedience  is  to  be  recognised 
by  me  as  a  reasonable  service, — if  the  voice  which  de- 
mands this  obedience  be  really  that  of  the  creative 
reason  within  me,  and  not  a  mere  fanciful  enthusiasm, 
invented  by  my  own  imagination,  or  communicated  to 
me  somehow  from  without, — this  obedience  must  have 
some  consequences,  must  serve  some  end.  It  is  evi- 


132  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

dent  that  it  does  not  serve  the  purpose  of  the  world  of 
sense; — there  must,  therefore,  be  a  super-sensual 
world,  whose  purposes  it  does  promote. 


The  mist  of  delusion  clears  away  from  before  my 
sight !  I  receive  a  new  organ,  and  a  new  world  opens 
before  me.  It  is  disclosed  to  me  only  by  the  law  of 
reason,  and  answers  only  to  that  law  in  my  spirit.  I 
apprehend  this  world, — limited  as  I  am  by  my  sensuous 
view,  I  must  thus  name  the  unnameable — I  apprehend 
this  world  merely  in  and  through  the  end  which  is 
promised  to  my  obedience ; — it  is  in  reality  nothing  else 
than  this  necessary  end  itself  which  reason  annexes 
to  the  law  of  duty. 

Setting  aside  everything  else,  how  could  I  suppose 
that  this  law  had  reference  to  the  world  of  sense,  or 
that  the  whole  end  and  object  of  the  obedience  which 
it  demands  is  to  be  found  within  that  world,  since 
that  which  alone  is  of  importance  in  this  obedience 
serves  no  purpose  whatever  in  that  world,  can  never 
become  a  cause  in  it,  and  can  never  produce  results. 
In  the  world  of  sense,  which  proceeds  on  a  chain  of 
material  causes  and  effects,  and  in  which  whatever 
happens  depends  merely  on  that  which  preceded  it,  it 
is  never  of  any  moment  how,  and  with  what  motives 
and  intentions,  an  action  is  performed,  but  only  what 
the  action  is. 

Had  it  been  the  whole  purpose  of  our  existence  to 
produce  an  earthly  condition  of  our  race,  there  would 
have  been  required  only  an  unerring  mechanism  by 
which  our  outward  actions  might  have  .been  deter- 
mined,— we  would  not  have  needed  to  be  more  than 
wheels  well  fitted  to  the  great  machine.  Freedom 


BOOK  III.    FAITH.  133 

would  have  been,  not  merely  vain,  but  even  obstruc- 
tive ;  a  virtuous  will  wholly  superfluous.  The  world 
would,  in  that  case,  be  most  unskilfully  directed,  and 
attain  the  purposes  of  its  existence  by  wasteful  ex- 
travagance and  circuitous  byways.  Hadst  thou, 
mighty  World-Spirit!  withheld  from  us  this  freedom, 
which  thou  art  now  constrained  to  adapt  to  thy  plans 
with  labour  and  contrivance ;  hadst  thou  rather  at  once 
compelled  us  to  act  in  the  way  in  which  thy  plans 
required  that  we  should  act,  thou  wouldst  have  at- 
tained thy  purposes  by  a  much  shorter  way,  as  the 
humblest  of  the  dwellers  in  these  thy  worlds  can  tell 
thee.  But  I  am  free;  and  therefore  such  a  chain  of 
causes  and  effects,  in  which  freedom  is  absolutely  su- 
perfluous and  without  aim,  cannot  exhaust  my  whole 
nature.  I  must  be  free;  for  it  is  not  the  mere  me- 
chanical act,  but  the  free  determination  of  free  will, 
for  the  sake  of  duty  and  for  the  ends  of  duty  only, — 
thus  speaks  the  voice  of  conscience  within  us, — this 
alone  it  is  which  constitutes  our  true  worth.  The 
bond  with  which  this  law  of  duty  binds  me  is  a  bond 
for  living  spirits  only ;  it  disdains  to  rule  over  a  dead 
mechanism,  and  addresses  its  decrees  only  to  the  liv- 
ing and  the  free.  It  requires  of  me  this  obedience; — 
this  obedience  therefore  cannot  be  nugatory  or  super- 
fluous. 

And  now  the  Eternal  World  rises  before  me  more 
brightly,  and  the  fundamental  law  of  its  order  stands 
clearly  and  distinctly  apparent  to  my  mental  vision. 
In  this  world,  will  alone,  as  it  lies  concealed  from 
mortal  eye  in  the  secret  obscurities  of  the  soul,  is  the 
first  link  in  a  chain  of  consequences  that  stretches 
through  the  whole  invisible  realms  of  spirit;  as,  in 


134  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

the  physical  world,  action — a  certain  movement  of 
matter — is  the  first  link  in  a  material  chain  that  runs 
through  the  whole  system  of  nature.  The  will  is  the 
efficient,  living  principle  of  the  world  of  reason,  as 
motion  is  the  efficient,  living  principle  of  the  world 
of  sense.  I  stand  in  the  centre  of  two  entirely  oppo- 
site worlds: — a  visible  world,  in  which  action  is  the 
only  moving  power;  and  an  invisible  and  absolutely 
incomprehensible  world,  in  which  will  is  the  ruling 
principle.  I  am  one  of  the  primitive  forces  of  both 
these  worlds.  My  will  embraces  both.  This  will  is, 
in  itself,  a  constituent  element  of  the  super-sensual 
world;  for  as  I  move  it  by  my  successive  resolutions, 
I  move  and  change  something  in  that  world,  and  my 
activity  thus  extends  itself  throughout  the  whole,  and 
gives  birth  to  new  and  ever-enduring  results  which 
henceforward  possess  a  real  existence  and  need  not 
again  to  be  produced.  This  will  may  break  forth  in 
a  material  act, — and  this  act  belongs  to  the  world  of 
sense  and  does  there  that  which  pertains  to  a  material 
act  to  do. 

It  is  not  necessary  that  I  should  first  be  severed  from 
the  terrestrial  world  before  I  can  obtain  admission 
into  the  celestial  one; — I  am  and  live  in  it  even  now, 
far  more  truly  than  in  the  terrestrial;  even  now  it  is 
my  only  sure  foundation,  and  the  eternal  life  on  the 
possession  of  which  I  have  already  entered  is  the  only 
ground  why  I  should  still  prolong  this  earthly  one. 
That  which  we  call  heaven  does  not  lie  beyond  the 
grave ;  it  is  even  here  diffused  around  us,  and  its  light 
arises  in  every  pure  heart.  My  will  is  mine,  and  it  is 
the  only  thing  that  is  wholly  mine  and  entirely  de- 
pendent on  myself;  and  through  it  I  have  already 
become  a  citizen  of  the  realm  of  freedom  and  of  pure 


BOOK  III.    FAITH.  135 

spiritual  activity.  What  determination  of  my  will — 
of  the  only  thing  by  which  I  am  raised  from  earth 
into  this  region — is  best  adapted  to  the  order  of  the 
spiritual  world,  is  proclaimed  to  me  at  every  moment 
by  my  conscience,  the  bond  that  constantly  unites  me 
to  it; — and  it  depends  solely  on  myself  to  give  my 
activity  the  appointed  direction.  Thus  I  cultivate 
myself  for  this  world;  labour  in  it,  and  for  it,  in 
cultivating  one  of  its  members;  in  it,  and  only  in  it, 
pursue  my  purpose  according  to  a  settled  plan,  with- 
out doubt  or  hesitation,  certain  of  the  result,  since  here 
no  foreign  power  stands  opposed  to  my  free  will. 
That,  in  the  world  of  sense,  my  will  also  becomes  an 
action,  is  but  the  law  of  this  sensuous  world.  I  did 
not  send  forth  the  act  as  I  did  the  will;  only  the  lat- 
ter was  wholly  and  purely  my  work, — it  was  all  that 
proceeded  forth  from  me.  It  was  not  even  necessary 
that  there  should  be  another  particular  act  on  my 
part  to  unite  the  deed  to  the  will;  the  deed  unites 
itself  to  it  according  to  the  law  of  that  second  world 
with  which  I  am  connected  through  my  will,  and  in 
which  this  will  is  likewise  an  original  force,  as  it  is 
in  the  first.  I  am  indeed  compelled,  when  I  regard 
my  will,  determined  according  to  the  dictates  of  con- 
science, as  a  fact  and  an  efficient  cause  in  the  world  of 
sense,  to  refer  it  to  that  earthly  purpose  of  humanity 
as  a  means  to  the  accomplishment  of  an  end ; — not  as 
if  I  should  first  survey  the  plan  of  the  world  and  from 
this  knowledge  calculate  what  I  had  to  do;  but  the 
specific  action,  which  conscience  directly  enjoins  me 
to  do,  reveals  itself  to  me  at  once  as  the  only  means 
by  which,  in  my  position,  I  can  contribute  to  the  at- 
tainment of  that  end.  Even  if  it  should  afterwards 
appear  as  if  this  end  had  not  been  promoted — nay,  if 


136  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

it  should  even  seem  to  have  been  hindered — by  my 
action,  yet  I  can  never  regret  it,  nor  perplex  myself 
about  it,  so  surely  as  I  have  truly  obeyed  my  con- 
science in  performing  this  act.  Whatever  conse- 
quences it  may  have  in  this  world,  in  the  other  world 
there  can  nothing  but  good  result  from  it.  And  even 
in  this  world,  .should  my  action  appear  to  have  failed 
of  its  purpose,  my  conscience  for  that  very  reason 
commands  me  to  repeat  it  in  a  manner  that  may  more 
effectually  reach  its  end;  or,  should  it  seem  to  have 
hindered  that  purpose,  for  that  very  reason  to  make 
good  the  detriment  and  annihilate  the  untoward  re- 
sult. I  will  as  I  ought,  and  the  new  deed  follows. 
It  may  happen  that  the  consequences  of  this  new  ac- 
tion, in  the  world  of  sense,  may  appear  to  me  not 
more  beneficial  than  those  of  the  first;  but,  with  re- 
spect to  the  other  world,  I  retain  the  same  calm  as- 
surance as  before ;  and,  in  the  present,  it  ,is  again  my 
bounden  duty  to  make  good  my  previous  failure  by 
new  action.  And  thus,  should  it  still  appear  that, 
during  my  whole  earthly  life,  I  have  not  advanced 
the  good  cause  a  single  hair's-breadth  in  this  world, 
yet  I  dare  not  cease  my  efforts :  after  every  unsuccess- 
ful attempt,  I  must  still  believe  that  the  next  will  be 
successful.  But  in  the  spiritual  world  no  step  is  ever 
lost.  In  short,  I  do  not  pursue  the  earthly  purpose 
for  its  own  sake  alone,  or  as  a  final  aim;  but  only 
because  my  true  final  aim,  obedience  to  the  law  of 
conscience,  does  not  present  itself  to  me  in  this  world 
in  any  other  shape  than  as  the  advancement  of  this 
end.  I  may  not  cease  to  pursue  it,  unless  I  were  to 
deny  the  law  of  duty,  or  unless  that  law  were  to  mani- 
fest itself  to  me,  in  this  life,  in  some  other  shape  than 
as  a  commandment  to  promote  this  purpose  in  my 


BOOK  III.    FAITH.  137 

own  place; — I  shall  actually  cease  to  pursue  it  in 
another  life  in  which  that  commandment  shall  have 
set  before  me  some  other  purpose  wholly  incompre- 
hensible to  me  here.  In  this  life,  I  must  will  to  pro- 
mote it,  because  I  must  obey;  whether  it  be  actually 
promoted  by  the  deed  that  follows  my  will  thus  fit- 
tingly directed  is  not  my  care;  I  am  responsible  only 
for  the  will,  but  not  for  the  result.  Previous  to  the 
actual  deed,  I  can  never  resign  this  purpose ;  the  deed, 
when  it  is  completed,  I  may  resign,  and  repeat  it,  or 
improve  it.  Thus  do  I  live  and  labour,  even  here,  in 
my  most  essential  nature  and  in  my  nearest  purposes, 
only  for  the  other  world,  and  my  activity  for  it  is  the 
only  thing  of  which  I  am  completely  certain ; — in  the 
world  of  sense  I  labour  only  for  the  sake  of  the  other, 
and  only  because  I  cannot  work  for  the  other  with- 
out at  least  willing  to  work  for  it. 


I  will  establish  myself  firmly  in  this,  to  me,  wholly 
new  view  of  my  vocation.  The  present  life  cannot 
be  rationally  regarded  as  the  whole  purpose  of  my 
existence,  or  of  the  existence  of  a  human  race  in  gen- 
eral;— there  is  something  in  me,  and  there  is  some- 
thing required  of  me,  which  finds  in  this  life  nothing 
to  which  it  can  be  applied,  and  which  is  entirely  su- 
perfluous and  unnecessary  for  the  attainment  of  the 
highest  objects  that  can  be  attained  on  earth.  There 
must  therefore  be  a  purpose  in  human  existence  which 
lies  beyond  this  life.  But  should  the  present  life, 
which  is  nevertheless  imposed  upon  us,  and  which  can- 
not be  designed  solely  for  the  development  of  reason, 
since  even  awakened  reason  commands  us  to  main- 
tain it  and  to  promote  its  highest  purposes  with  all 


I3«  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

our  powers, — should  this  life  not  prove  entirely  vain 
and  ineffectual,  it  must  at  least  have  relation  to  a  fu- 
ture life,  as  means  to  an  end.  Now  there  is  nothing  in 
this  present  life,  the  ultimate  consequences  of  which  do 
not  remain  on  earth, — nothing  whereby  we  could  be 
connected  with  a  future  life — but  only  our  virtuous 
will,  which  in  this  world,  but  the  fundamental  laws 
thereof,  is  entirely  fruitless.  Only  our  virtuous  will  can 
it,  must  it  be,  by  which  we  can  labour  for  another  life, 
and  for  the  first  and  nearest  objects  which  are  there 
revealed  to  us ;  and  it  is  the  consequences,  invisible  to 
us,  of  this  virtuous  will,  through  which  we  first  ac- 
quire a  firm  standing-point  in  that  life  from  whence 
we  may  then  advance  in  a  farther  course  of  progress. 


That  our  virtuous  will  in,  and  for  and  through 
itself,  must  have  consequences,  we  know  already  in 
this  life,  for  reason  cannot  command  anything  which 
is  without  a  purpose;  but  what  these  consequences 
may  be, — nay,  how  it  is  even  possible  for  a  mere  will 
to  produce  any  effect  at  all, — as  to  this  we  can  form 
no  conception  whatever,  so  long  as  we  are  still  con- 
fined to  this  material  world;  and  it  is  true  wisdom 
not  to  undertake  an  inquiry  in  which  we  know  before- 
hand that  we  shall  be  unsuccessful.  With  respect  to 
the  nature  of  these  consequences,  the  present  life  is 
therefore,  in  relation  to  the  future,  a  life  in  faith.  In 
the  future  life,  we  shall  possess  these  consequences, 
for  we  shall  then  proceed  from  them  as  our  starting- 
point,  and  build  upon  them  as  our  foundation;  and 
this  other  life  will  thus  be,  in  relation  to  the  conse- 
quences of  our  virtuous  will  in  the  present,  a  life  in 
sight.  In  that  other  life,  we  shall  also  have  an  im- 


BOOK  III.    FAITH.  139 

mediate  purpose  set  before  us,  as  we  have  in  the 
present;  for  our  activity  must  not  cease.  But  we 
remain  finite  beings, — and  for  finite  beings  there  is 
but  finite,  determinate  activity;  and  every  determinate 
act  has  a  determinate  end.  As,  in  the  present  life, 
the  actually  existing  world  as  we  find  it  around  us,  the 
fitting  adjustment  of  this  world  to  the  work  we  have 
to  do  in  it,  the  degree  of  culture  and  virtue  already 
attained  by  men,  and  our  own  physical  powers, — as 
these  stand  related  to  the  purposes  of  this  life, — so,  in 
the  future  life,  the  consequences  of  our  virtuous  will 
in  the  present  shall  stand  related  to  the  purposes  of 
that  other  existence.  The  present  is  the  commence- 
ment of  our  existence;  the  endowments  requisite  for 
its  purpose,  and  a  firm  footing  in  it,  have  been  freely 
bestowed  on  us: — the  future  is  the  continuation  of 
this  existence,  and  in  it  we  must  acquire  for  ourselves 
a  commencement,  and  a  definite  standing-point. 

And  now  the  present  life  no  longer  appears  vain 
and  useless ;  for  this  and  this  alone  it  is  given  to  us — 
that  we  may  acquire  for  ourselves  a  firm  foundation  in 
the  future  life,  and  only  by  means  of  this  foundation 
is  it  connected  with  our  whole  external  existence.  It 
is  very  possible,  that  the  immediate  purpose  of  this 
second  life  may  prove  as  unattainable  by  finite  pow- 
ers, with  certainty  and  after  a  fixed  plan,  as  the  'pur- 
pose of  the  present  life  is  now,  and  that  even  there  a 
virtuous  will  may  appear  superfluous  and  without  re- 
sult. But  it  can  never  be  lost  there,  any  more  than 
here,  for  it  is  the  eternal  and  unalterable  command  of 
reason.  Its  necessary  efficacy  would,  in  that  case,  di- 
rect us  to  a  third  life,  in  which  the  consequences  of 
our  virtuous  will  in  the  second  life  will  become  vis- 
ible ; — a  life  which  during  the  second  life  would  again 


140  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

be  believed  in  through  faith,  but  with  firmer,  more 
unwavering  confidence,  since  we  should  already  have 
had  practical  experience  of  the  truthfulness  of  reason, 
and  have  regained  the  fruits  of  a  pure  heart  which 
had  been  faithfully  garnered  up  in  a  previously  com- 
pleted life. 

As  in  the  present  life  it  is  only  from  the  command 
of  conscience  to  follow  a  certain  course  of  action  that 
there  arises  our  conception  of  a  certain  purpose  in 
this  action,  and  from  this  our  whole  intuitive  percep- 
tion of  a  world  of  sense; — so  in  the  future,  upon  a 
similar,  but  now  to  us  wholly  inconceivable  command, 
will  be  founded  our  conception  of  the  immediate  pur- 
pose of  that  life;  and  upon  this,  again,  our  intuitive 
perception  of  a  world  in  which  we  shall  set  out  from 
the  consequences  of  our  virtuous  will  in  the  present 
life.  The  present  world  exists  for  us  only  through 
the  law  of  duty ;  the  other  will  be  revealed  to  us,  in  a 
similar  manner,  through  another  command  of  duty ; 
for  in  no  other  manner  can  a  world  exist  for  any 
reasonable  being. 


This,  then,  is  my  whole  sublime  vocation,  my  true 
nature.  I  am  a  member  of  two  orders: — the  one 
purely  spiritual,  in  which  I  rule  by  my  will  alone ;  the 
other  sensuous,  in  which  I  operate  by  my  deed.  The 
whole  end  of  reason  is  pure  activity,  absolutely  by 
itself  alone,  having  no  need  of  any  instrument  out 
of  itself, — independence  of  everything  which  is  not 
reason, — absolute  freedom.  The  will  is  the  living 
principle  of  reason, — is  itself  reason,  when  purely  and 
simply  apprehended;  that  reason  is  active  by  itself 
alone,  means,  that  pure  will,  merely  as  such,  lives  and 


BOOK  III.    FAITH.  141 

rules.  It  is  only  the  Infinite  Reason  that  lives  imme- 
diately and  wholly  in  this  purely  spiritual  order.  The 
finite  reason, — which  does  not  of  itself  constitute  the 
world  of  reason,  but  is  only  one  of  its  many  mem- 
bers,— lives  necessarily  at  the  same  time  in  a  sensuous 
order;  that  is  to  say,  in  one  which  presents  to  it 
another  object,  beyond  a  purely  spiritual  activity: — 
a  material  object,  to  be  promoted  by  instruments  and 
powers  which  indeed  stand  under  the  immediate  do- 
minion of  the  will,  but  whose  activity  is  also  condi- 
tioned by  their  own  natural  laws.  Yet  as  surely  as 
reason  is  reason,  must  the  will  operate  absolutely  by 
itself,  and  independently  of  the  natural  laws  by  which 
the  material  action  is  determined ; — and  hence  the 
sensuous  life  of  every  finite  being  points  towards  a 
higher,  into  which  the  will,  by  itself  alone,  may  open 
the  way,  and  of  which  it  may  acquire  possession, — a 
possession  which  indeed  we  must  again  sensuously 
conceive  of  as  a  state,  and  not  as  a  mere  will. 

These  two  orders, — the  purely  spiritual  and  the 
sensuous,  the  latter  consisting  possibly  of  an  innu- 
merable series  of  particular  lives, — have  existed  since 
the  first  moment  of  the  development  of  an  active 
reason  within  me,  and  still  proceed  parallel  to  each 
other.  The  latter  order  is  only  a  phenomenon  for 
myself,  and  for  those  with  whom  I  am  associated  in 
this  life;  the  former  alone  gives  it  significance,  pur- 
pose,  and  value.  I  am  immortal,  imperishable,  eter- 
nal, as  soon  as  I  form  the  resolution  to  obey  the  laws 
of  reason;  I  do  not  need  to  become  so.  The  super- 
sensual  world  is  no  future  world;  it  is  now  present; 
it  can  at  no  point  of  finite  existence  be  more  present 
than  at  another;  not  more  present  after  an  existence 
of  myriads  of  lives  than  at  this  moment.  My  sensuous 


142  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

existence  may,  in  future,  assume  other  forms,  but 
these  are  just  as  little  the  true  life,  as  its  present  form. 
By  that  resolution  I  lay  hold  on  eternity,  and  cast  off 
this  earthly  life  and  all  other  forms  of  sensuous  life 
which  may  yet  lie  before  me  in  futurity,  and  place 
myself  far  above  them.  I  become  the  sole  source  of 
my  own  being  and  its  phenomena,  and,  henceforth, 
unconditioned  by  anything  without  me,  I  have  life  in 
myself.  My  will,  which  is  directed  by  no  foreign 
agency  in  the  order  of  the  super-sensual  world,  but 
by  myself  alone,  is  this  source  of  true  life,  and  of 
eternity. 

It  is  my  will  alone  which  is  this  source  of  true  life, 
and  of  eternity; — only  by  recognising  this  will  as  the 
peculiar  seat  of  moral  goodness,  and  by  actually  rais- 
ing it  thereto,  do  I  obtain  the  assurance  and  the  pos- 
session of  that  super-sensual  world. 

Without  regard  to  any  conceivable  or  visible  object, 
without  inquiry  as  to  whether  my  will  may  be  fol- 
lowed by  any  result  other  than  the  mere  volition, — 
I  must  will  in  accordance  with  the  moral  law.  My 
will  stands  alone,  apart  from  all  that  is  not  itself,  and 
is  its  own  world  merely  by  itself  and  for  itself;  not 
only  as  being  itself  an  absolutely  first,  primary  and 
original  power,  before  which  there  is  no  preceding 
influence  by  which  it  may  be  governed,  but  also  as 
being  followed  by  no  conceivable  or  comprehensible 
second  step  in  the  series,  coming  after  it,  by  which 
its  activity  may  be  brought  under  the  dominion  of  a 
foreign  law.  Did  there  proceed  from  it  any  second,  and 
from  this  again  a  third  result,  and  so  forth,  in  any 
conceivable  sensuous  world  opposed  to  the  spiritual 
world,  then  would  its  strength  be  broken  by  the  re- 
sistance it  would  encounter  from  the  independent  ele- 


BOOK  III.    FAITH.  143 

ments  of  such  a  world  which  it  would  set  in  motion; 
the  mode  of  its  activity  would  no  longer  exactly  cor- 
respond to  the  purpose  expressed  in  the  volition;  and 
the  will  would  no  longer  remain  free,  but  be  partly 
limited  by  the  peculiar  laws  of  its  heterogeneous 
sphere  of  action.  And  thus  must  I  actually  regard 
the  will  in  the  present  sensuous  world,  the  only  one 
known  to  me.  I  am  indeed  compelled  to  believe,  and 
consequently  to  act  as  if  I  thought,  that  by  my  mere 
volition, -my  tongue,  my  hand,  or  my  foot,  might  be 
set  in  motion;  but  how  a  mere  aspiration,  an  impress 
of  intelligence  upon  itself,  such  as  will  is,  can  be  the 
principle  of  motion  to  a  heavy  material  mass, — this  I 
not  only  find  it  impossible  to  conceive,  but  the  mere 
assertion  is,  before  the  tribunal  of  the  understanding, 
a  palpable  absurdity; — here  the  movement  of  matter 
even  in  myself  can  be  explained  only  by  the  internal 
forces  of  matter  itself. 

Such  a  view  of  my  will  as  I  have  taken,  can,  how- 
ever, be  attained  only  through  an  intimate  conviction 
that  it  is  not  merely  the  highest  active  principle  for 
this  world, — which  it  certainly  might  be,  without  hav- 
ing freedom  in  itself,  by  the  mere  influence  of  the 
system  of  the  universe,  perchance,  as  we  must  con- 
ceive of  a  formative  power  in  Nature, — but  that  it 
absolutely  disregards  all  earthly  objects,  and  gener- 
ally all  objects  lying  out  of  itself,  and  recognises  itself, 
for  its  own  sake,  as  its  own  ultimate  end.  But  by 
such  a  view  of  my  will  I  am  at  once  directed  to  a 
super-sensual  order  of  things,  in  which  the  will,  by 
itself  alone  and  without  any  instrument  lying  out  of 
itself,  becomes  an  efficient  cause  in  a  sphere  which, 
like  itself,  is  purely  spiritual,  and  is  thoroughly  ac- 
cessible to  it.  That  moral  volition  is  demanded  of  us 


144  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

absolutely  for  its  own  sake  alone, — a  truth  which  I 
discover  only  as  a  fact  in  my  inward  consciousness, 
and  to  the  knowledge  of  which  I  cannot  attain  in  any 
other  way: — this  was  the  first  step  of  my  thought. 
That  this  demand  is  reasonable,  and  the  source  and 
standard  of  all  else  that  is  reasonable;  that  it  is  not 
modelled  upon  any  other  thing  whatever,  but  that  all 
other  things  must,  on  the  contrary,  model  themselves 
upon  it, — and  be  dependent  upon  it, — a  convic- 
tion which  also  I  cannot  arrive  at  from  with- 
out, but  can  attain  only  by  inward  experience, 
by  means  of  the  unhesitating  and  immovable  as- 
sent which  I  freely  accord  to  this  demand : — this 
was  the  second  step  of  my  thought.  And  from  these 
two  terms  I  have  attained  to  faith  in  a  super-sensual 
Eternal  World.  If  I  abandon  the  former,  the  latter 
falls  to  the  ground.  If  it  were  true, — as  many  say  it 
is,  assuming  it  without  farther  proof  as  self-evident 
and  extolling  it  as  the  highest  summit  of  human  wis- 
dom,— that  all  human  virtue  must  have  before  it  a 
certain  definite  external  object,  and  that  it  must  first 
be  assured  of  the  possibility  of  attaining  this  object, 
before  it  can  act  and  before  it  can  become  virtue ;  that, 
consequently,  reason  by  no  means  contains  within 
itself  the  principle  and  the  standard  of  its  own  activ- 
ity, but  must  receive  this  standard  from  without, 
through  contemplation  of  an  external  world ; — if  this 
were  true,  then  might  the  ultimate  end  of  our  exist- 
ence be  accomplished  here  below ;  human  nature  might 
be  completely  developed  and  exhausted  by  our  earthly 
vocation,  and  we  should  have  no  rational  ground  for 
raising  our  thoughts  above  the  present  life. 


BOOK  III.    FAITH.  145 

But  every  thinker  who  has  anywhere  acquired  those 
first  principles  even  historically,  moved  perhaps  by  a 
mere  love  of  the  new  and  unusual,  and  who  is  able 
to  prosecute  a  correct  course  of  reasoning  from  them, 
might  speak  and  teach  as  I  have  now  spoken  to  my- 
self. He  would  then  present  us  with  the  thoughts  of 
some  other  being,  not  with  his  own ;  everything  would 
float  before  him  empty  and  without  significance,  be- 
cause he  would  be  without  the  sense  whereby  he  might 
apprehend  its  reality.  He  is  a  blind  man,  who,  upon 
certain  true  principles  concerning  colours  which  he 
has  learned  historically,  has  built  a  perfectly  correct 
theory  of  colour,  notwithstanding  that  there  is  in  re- 
ality no  colour  existing  for  him;— he  can  tell  how, 
under  certain  conditions,  it  must  be;  but  to  him  it  is 
not  so,  because  he  does  not  stand  under  these  condi- 
tions. The  faculty  by  which  we  lay  hold  on  Eternal 
Life  is  to  be  attained  only  by  actually  renouncing  the 
sensuous  and  its  objects,  and  sacrificing  them  to  that 
law  which  takes  cognizance  of  our  will  only  and  not 
of  our  actions ; — renouncing  them  with  the  firmest 
conviction  that  it  is  reasonable  for  us  to  do  so, — nay, 
that  it  is  the  only  thing  reasonable  for  us.  By  this 
renunciation  of  the  Earthly,  does  faith  in  the  Eternal 
first  arise  in  our  soul,  and  is  there  enshrined  apart, 
as  the  only  support  to  which  we  can  cling  after  we 
have  given  up  all  else, — as  the  only  animating  prin- 
ciple that  can  elevate  our  minds  and  inspire  our  lives. 
We  must  indeed,  according  to  the  figure  of  a  sacred 
doctrine,  first  "  die  unto  the  world  and  be  born  again, 
before  we  can  enter  the  kingdom  of  God." 


14(5  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN, 

I  see — Oh  I  now  see  clearly  before  me  the  cause  of 
my  former  indifference  and  blindness  concerning  spir- 
itual things!  Absorbed  by  mere  earthly  objects,  lost 
in  them  with  all  our  thoughts  and  efforts,  moved  and 
urged  onward  only  by  the  notion  of  a  result  lying 
beyond  ourselves, — by  the  desire  of  such  a  result  and 
of  our  enjoyment  therein, — insensible  and  dead  to  the 
pure  impulse  of  reason,  which  gives  a  law  to  itself, 
and  offers  to  our  aspirations  a  purely  spiritual  end, — 
the  immortal  Psyche  remains,  with  fettered  pinions, 
fastened  to  the  earth.  Our  philosophy  becomes  the 
history  of  our  own  heart  and  life;  and  according  to 
what  we  ourselves  are,  do  we  conceive  of  man  and  his 
vocation.  Never  impelled  by  any  other  motive  than 
the  desire  after  what  can  be  actually  realized  in  this 
world,  there  is  for  us  no  true  freedom, — no  freedom 
which  holds  the  ground  of  its  determination  absolutely 
and  entirely  within  itself.  Our  freedom  is,  at  best, 
that  of  the  self- forming  plant;  not  essentially  higher 
in  its  nature,  but  only  more  artistical  in  its  results ;  not 
producing  a  mere  material  form  with  roots,  leaves,  and 
blossoms,  but  a  mind  with  impulses,  thoughts,  and 
actions.  We  cannot  have  the  slighest  conception  of 
true  freedom,  because  we  do  not  ourselves  possess 
it ;  when  it  is  spoken  of,  we  either  bring  down  what  is 
said  to  the  level  of  our  own  notions,  or  at  once  de- 
clare all  such  talk  to  be  nonsense.  Without  the  idea 
of  freedom,  we  are  likewise  without  the  faculty  for 
another  world.  Everything  of  this  kind  floats  past 
before  us  like  words  that  are  not  addressed  to  us; 
like  a  pale  shadow,  without  colour  or  meaning,  which 
we  know  not  how  to  lay  hold  of  or  retain.  We  leave 
it  as  we  find  it,  without  the  least  participation  Or 
sympathy.  Or  should  we  ever  be  urged  by  a  more 


BOOK  III.    FAITH.  147 

active  zeal  to  consider  it  seriously,  we  then  convince 
ourselves  to  our  own  satisfaction  that  all  such  ideas 
are  untenable  and  worthless  reveries,  which  the  man 
of  sound  understanding  unhesitatingly  rejects;  and 
according  to  the  premises  from  which  we  proceed, 
made  up  as  they  are  of  our  inward  experiences,  we 
are  perfectly  in  the  right  and  secure  from  either  refu- 
tation or  conversion  so  long  as  we  remain  what  we 
are.  The  excellent  doctrines  which  are  taught  amongst 
us  with  a  special  authority,  concerning  freedom,  duty, 
and  everlasting  life,  become  to  us  romantic  fables,  like 
those  of  Tartarus  and  the  Elysian  fields ;  although  we 
do  not  publish  to  the  world  this  our  secret  opinion, 
because  we  find  it  expedient,  by  means  of  these  fig- 
ures, to  maintain  an  outward  decorum  among  the 
populace;  or,  should  we  be  less  reflective,  and  our- 
selves bound  in  the  chains  of  authority,  then  we  sink 
to  the  level  of  the  common  mind,  and  believing  what, 
thus  understood,  would  be  mere  foolish  fables,  we 
find  in  those  pure  spiritual  symbols  only  the  promise 
of  continuing  throughout  eternity  the  same  miserable 
existence  which  we  possess  here  below. 

In  one  word: — only  by  the  fundamental  improve- 
ment of  my  will  does  a  new  light  arise  within  me 
concerning  my  existence  and  vocation;  without  this, 
however  much  I  may  speculate,  and  with  what  rare 
intellectual  gifts  soever  I  may  be  endowed,  darkness 
remains  within  me  and  around  me.  The  improve- 
ment of  the  heart  alone  leads  to  true  wisdom.  Let 
then  my  whole  life  be  unceasingly  devoted  to  this  one 
purpose. 


148  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

IV. 

My  Moral  Will  merely  as^sjiich,  in  and  through 
itself,  shall  certainly  and  invariably  produce  conse- 
quences ;  every  determination  of  my  will  in  accordance 
with  duty,  although  no  action  should  follow  it,  shall 
operate  in  another,  to  me  incomprehensible,  world,  in 
which  nothing  but  this  moral  determination  of  the 
will  shall  possess  efficient  activity.  What  is  it  that  is 
assumed  in  this  conception  ? 

Obviously  a  Law;  a  rule  absolutely  without  excep- 
tion, according  to  which  a  will  determined  by  duty 
must  have  consequences;  just  as  the  material  world 
which  surrounds  me  I  assume  a  law  according  to 
which  this  ball,  when  thrown  by  my  hand  with  this 
particular  force,  in  this  particular  direction,  neces- 
sarily moves  in  such  a  direction  with  a  certain  degree 
of  velocity, — perhaps  strikes  another  ball  with  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  force,  which  in  its  turn  moves  on  with 
a  certain  velocity, — and  so  on.  As  here,  in  the  mere 
direction  and  motion  of  my  hand,  I  already  perceive 
and  apprehend  all  the  consequent  directions  and  move- 
ments, with  the  same  certainty  as  if  they  were  al- 
ready present  before  me;  even  so  do  I  embrace  by 
means  of  my  virtuous  will  a  series  of  necessary  and 
inevitable  consequences  in  the  spiritual  world,  as  if  they 
were  already  present  before  me;  only  that  I  cannot 
define  them  as  I  do  those  in  the  material  world, — 
that  is,  I  only  know  that  they  must  be,  but  not  how 
they  are  not  two  thoughts,  one  of  which  arises  by 
Law  of  the  spiritual  world,  in  which  my  pure  will  is 
one  of  the  moving  forces,  as  my  hand  is  one  of  the 
moving  forces  of  the  material  world.  My  own  firm 
confidence  in  these  results,  and  the  conceptions  of  this 


BOOK  III.    FAITH.  149 

Law  of  the  spiritual  world,  are  one  and  the  same; — 
they  are  not  two  thoughts,  one  of  which  arises  by 
means  of  the  other,  but  they  are  entirely  the  same 
thought;  just  as  the  confidence  with  which  I  calcu- 
late on  a  certain  motion  in  a  material  body,  and  the 
conception  of  a  mechanical  law  of  nature  on  which 
that  motion  depends,  are  one  and  the  same.  The 
conception  of  a  Law  expresses  nothing  more  than  the 
firm,  immovable  confidence  of  reason  in  a  principle, 
and  the  absolute  impossibility  of  admitting  its  oppo- 
site. 

I  assume  such  a  law  of  a  spiritual  world, — not  given 
by  my  will  nor  by  the  will  of  any  finite  being,  nor  by 
the  will  of  all  finite  beings  taken  together,  but  to 
which  my  will,  and  the  will  of  all  finite  beings,  is  sub- 
ject. Neither  I,  nor  any  finite  and  therefore  sensuous 
being,  can  conceive  how  a  mere  will  can  have  conse- 
quences, nor  what  may  be  the  true  nature  of  those 
consequences ;  for  herein  consists  the  essential  charac- 
ter of  our  finite  nature, — that  we  are  unable  to  con- 
ceive this, — that  having  indeed  our  will,  as  such, 
wholly  within  our  power,  we  are  yet  compelled  by  our 
sensuous  nature  to  regard  the  consequences  of  that  will 
as  sensuous  states: — how  then  can  I,  or  any  other 
finite  being  whatever,  propose  to  ourselves  as  objects, 
and  thereby  give  reality  to,  that  which  we  can  neither 
imagine  nor  conceive?  I  cannot  say  that,  in  the  ma- 
terial world,  my  hand,  or  any  other  body  which  be- 
longs to  that  world  an  I  is  subject  to  the  universal  law 
of  gravity,  brings  this  law  into  operation ; — these  bod- 
ies themselves  stand  under  this  law,  and  are  able  to 
set  another  body  in  motion  only  in  accordance  with 
this  law,  and  only  in  so  far  as  that  body,  by  virtue  of 
this  law,  partakes  of  the  universal  moving  power  of 


150  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

Nature.  Just  as  little  can  a  finite  will  give  a  law  to 
the  super-sensual  world,  which  no  finite  spirit  can 
embrace;  but  all  finite  wills  stand  under  the  law  of 
that  world,  and  can  produce  results  therein  only  inas- 
much as  that  law  already  exists,  and  inasmuch  as  they 
themselves,  in  accordance  with  the  form  of  that  law 
which  is  applicable  to  finite  wills,  bring  themselves 
under  its  conditions,  and  within  the  sphere  of  its  ac- 
tivity, by  moral  obedience; — by  moral  obedience,  I 
say,  the  only  tie  which  unites  them  to  that  higher 
world,  the  only  nerve  that  descends  from  it  to  them, 
and  the  only  organ  through  which  they  can  re-act  upon 
it.  As  the  universal  power  of  attraction  embraces  all 
bodies,  and  holds  them  together  in  themselves  and 
with  each  other,  and  the  movement  of  each  separate 
body  is  possible  only  on  the  supposition  of  this  power, 
so  does  that  super-sensual  law  unite,  hold  together, 
and  embrace  all  finite  reasonable  beings.  My  will,  and 
the  will  of  all  finite  beings,  may  be  regarded  from  a 
double  point  of  view: — partly  as  a  mere  volition,  an 
internal  act  directed  upon  itself  alone,  and,  in  so  far, 
the  will  is  complete  in  itself,  concluded  in  this  act  of 
volition ; — partly  as  something  beyond  this,  a  fact.  It 
assumes  the  latter  form  to  me,  as  soon  as  I  regard  it 
as  completed ;  but  it  must  also  become  so  beyond  me : — 
in  the  world  of  sense,  as  the  moving  principle,  for 
instance,  of  my  hand,  from  the  movement  of  which, 
again,  other  movements  follow; — in  the  super-sensual 
world,  as  the  principle  of  a  series  of  spiritual  conse- 
quences of  which  I  have  no  conception.  In  the  former 
point  of  view,  as  a  mere  act  of  volition,  it  stands 
wholly  within  my  own  power ;  its  assumption  of  the 
latter  character,  that  of  an  active  first  principle,  de- 
pends not  upon  me,  but  on  a  law  to  which  I  myself 


BOOK  III.    FAITH.  iSt 

am  subject; — on  the  law  of  nature  in  the  world  of 
sense,  on  a  super-sensual  law  in  the  world  of  pure 
thought. 

What,  then,  is  this  law  of  the  spiritual  world  which 
I  conceive?  This  idea  now  stands  before  me,  in  fixed 
and  perfect  shape;  I  cannot,  and  dare  not  add  any- 
thing whatever  to  it;  I  have  only  to  express  and  in- 
terpret it  distinctly.  It  is  obviously  not  such  as  I 
may  suppose  the  principle  of  my  own,  or  any  other 
possible  sensuous  world,  to  be, — a  fixed,  inert  exist- 
ence, from  which,  by  the  encounter  of  a  will,  some 
internal  power  may  be  evolved, — something  altogether 
different  from  a  mere  will.  For, — and  this  is  the  sub- 
stance of  my  belief, — my  will,  absolutely  by  itself,  and 
without  the  intervention  of  any  instrument  that  might 
weaken  its  expression,  shall  act  in  a  perfectly  con- 
genial sphere, — reason  upon  reason,  spirit  upon 
spirit; — in  a  sphere  to  which  nevertheless  it  does  not 
give  the  law  of  life,  activity,  and  progress,  but  which 
has  that  law  in  itself ; — therefore,  upon  self-active  rea- 
son. But  self-active  reason  is  will.  The  law  of  the 
super-sensual  world  must,  therefore,  be  a  Will: — A 
Will  which  operates  purely  as  will;  by  itself,  and  ab- 
solutely without  any  instrument  or  sensible  material 
of  its  activity;  which  is,  at  the  same  time,  both  act 
and  product ;  with  whom  to  will  is  to  do,  to  command 
is  to  execute;  in  which  therefore  the  instinctive  de- 
mand of  reason  for  absolute  freedom  and  independ- 
ence is  realized: — A  Will,  which  in  itself  is  law;  de- 
termined by  no  fancy  or  caprice,  through  no  previous 
reflection,  hesitation  or  doubt : — but  eternal,  unchange- 
able, on  which  we  may  securely  and  infallibly  rely, 
as  the  physical  man  relies  with  certainty  on  the  laws 
of  his  world : — A  Will  in  which  the  moral  will  of  finite 


IS2  THE  LOCATION  OP  MAN. 

beings,  and  this  alone,  has  sure  and  unfailing  results ; 
since  for  it  all  else  is  unavailing,  all  else  is  as  if  it  were 
viot. 

That  sublime  Will  thus  pursues  no  solitary  path 
withdrawn  from  the  other  parts  of  the  world  of  rea- 
son. There  is  a  spiritual  bond  between  Him  and  all 
finite  rational  beings;  and  He  himself  is  this  spiritual 
bond  of  the  rational  universe.  Let  me  will,  purely  and 
decidedly,  my  duty ;  and  He  wills  that,  in  the  spiritual 
world  at  least,  my  will  shall  prosper.  Every  moral 
resolution  of  a  finite  being  goes  up  before  Him,  and — 
to  speak  after  the  manner  of  mortals — moves  and  de- 
termines Him,  not  in  consequence  of  a  momentary 
satisfaction,  but  in  accordance  with  the  eternal  law 
of  His  being.  With  surprising  clearness  does  this 
thought,  which  hitherto  was  surrounded  with  dark- 
ness, now  reveal  itself  to  my  soul;  the  thought  that 
my  will,  merely  as  such,  and  through  itself,  shall  have 
results.  It  has  results,  because  it  is  immediately  and 
infallibly  perceived  by  another  Will  to  which  it  is  re- 
lated, which  is  its  own  accomplishment  and  the  only 
living  principle  of  the  spiritual  world;  in  Him  it  has 
its  first  results,  and  through  Him  it  acquires  an 
influence  on  the  whole  spiritual  world,  which  through- 
out is  but  a  product  of  that  Infinite  Will. 

Thus  do  I  approach — the  mortal  must  speak  in  his 
own  language — thus  do  I  approach  that  Infinite  Will; 
and  the  voice  of  conscience  in  my  soul,  which  teaches 
me  in  every  situation  of  life  what  I  have  there  to  do, 
is  the  channel  through  which  again  His  influence  de- 
scends upon  me.  That  voice,  sensualized  by  my  en- 
vironment, and  translated  into  my  language,  is  the 
oracle  of  the  Eternal  World  which  announces  to  me 
how  I  am  to  perform  my  part  in  the  order  of  the 


BOOK  III.    FAITH.  153 

spiritual  universe,  or  in  the  Infinite  Will  who  is  Him- 
self that  order.  I  cannot,  indeed,  survey  or  compre- 
hend that  spiritual  order,  and  I  need  not  to  do  so; — 
I  am  but  a  link  in  its  chain,  and  can  no  more  judge 
of  the  whole,  than  a  single  tone  of  music  can  judge 
of  the  entire  harmony  of  which  it  forms  a  part.  But 
what  I  myself  ought  to  be  in  this  harmony  of  spirits 
I  must  know,  for  it  is  only  I  myself  who  can  make  me 
so, — and  this  immediately  revealed  to  me  by  a  voice 
whose  tones  descend  upon  me  from  that  other  world. 
Thus  do  I  stand  connected  with  the  ONE  who  alone 
has  existence,  and  thus  do  I  participate  in  His  being. 
There  is  nothing  real,  lasting,  imperishable  in  me,  but 
these  two  elements: — the  voice  of  conscience,  and  my 
free  obedience.  By  the  first,  the  spiritual  world  bows 
down  to  me,  and  embraces  me  as  one  of  its  members; 
by  the  second  I  raise  myself  into  this  world,  appre- 
hend it,  and  re-act  upon  it.  That  Infinite  Will  is  the 
mediator  between  it  and  me;  for  He  himself  is  the 
original  source  both  of  it  and  me.  This  is  the  one 
True  and  Imperishable  for  which  my  soul  yearns  even 
from  its  inmost  depths;  all  else  is  mere  appearance, 
ever  vanishing,  and  ever  returning  in  a  new  sem- 
blance. 


This  Will  unites  me  with  himself ;  He  also  unites  me 
with  all  finite  beings  like  myself,  and  is  the  common 
mediator  between  us  all.  This  is  the  great  mystery  of 
the  invisible  world,  and  its  fundamental  law,  in  so  far 
as  it  is  a  world  or  system  of  many  individual  wills : — 
the  union,  and  direct  reciprocal  action,  of  many  sep- 
arate and  independent  wills;  a  mystery  which  already 
lies  clearly  before  every  eye  in  the  present  life,  without 


154  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

attracting  the  notice  of  any  one,  or  being  regarded  as  in 
any  way  wonderful.  The  voice  of  conscience,  which 
imposes  on  each  his  particular  duty,  is  the  light-beam 
on  which  we  come  forth  from  the  bosom  of  the  Infinite, 
and  assume  our  place  as  particular  individual  beings; 
it  fixes  the  limits  of  our  personality ;  it  is  thus  the  true 
original  element  of  our  nature,  the  foundation  and  ma- 
terial of  all  our  life.  The  absolute  freedom  of  the  will, 
which  we  bring  down  with  us  from  the  Infinite  into  the 
world  of  Time,  is  the  principle  of  this  our  life.  I 
act : — and,  the  sensible  intuition  through  which  alone  I 
become  a  personal  intelligence  being  supposed,  it  is  easy 
to  conceive  how  I  must  necessarily  know  of  this  my  ac- 
tion,— I  know  it,  because  it  is  I  myself  who  act ; — it  is 
easy  to  conceive  how,  by  means  of  this  sensible  intu- 
ition, my  spiritual  act  appears  to  me  as  a  fact  in  a  world 
of  sense;  and  how,  on  the  other  hand,  by  the  same 
sensualization,  the  law  of  duty  which,  in  itself,  is  a 
purely  spiritual  law,  should  appear  to  me  as  the  com- 
mand to  such  an  action ; — it  is  easy  to  conceive,  how  an 
actually  present  world  should  appear  to  me  as  the  con- 
dition of  this  action,  and,  in  part,  as  the  consequence 
and  product  of  it.  Thus  far  I  remain  within  myself 
and  upon  my  own  territory ;  everything  here,  which  has 
an  existence  for  me,  unfolds  itself  purely  and  solely 
from  myself ;  I  see  everywhere  only  myself,  and  no  true 
existence  out  of  myself.  But  in  this  my  world  I  admit, 
also,  the  operations  of  other  beings,  separate  and  inde- 
pendent of  me,  as  much  as  I  of  them.  How  these  be- 
ings can  themselves  know  of  the  influences  which  pro- 
ceed from  them,  may  easily  be  conceived ;  they  know  of 
them  in  the  same  way  in  which  I  know  of  my  own. 
But  how  /  can  know  of  them  is  absolutely  inconceiv- 
able; just  as  it  is  inconceivable  how  they  can  possess 


BOOK  III.    FAITH.  155 

that  knowledge  of  my  existence,  and  its  manifestations, 
which  nevertheless  I  ascribe  to  them,  tjow  do  they 
come  within  my  world,  or  I  within  theirs, — since  the 
principle  by  which  the  consciousness  of  ourselves,  of 
our  operations,  and  of  their  sensuous  conditions,  is  de- 
duced from  ourselves, — i.  e.,  that  each  individual  must 
undoubtedly  know  what  he  himself  does, — is  here 
wholly  inapplicable  ?  How  have  free  spirits  knowledge 
of  free  spirits,  since  we  know  that  free  spirits  are  the 
only  reality,  and  that  an  independent  world  of  sense, 
through  which  they  might  act  on  each  other,  is  no 
longer  to  be  taken  into  account.  Or  shall  it  be  said, — 
I  perceive  reasonable  beings  like  myself  by  the  changes 
which  they  produce  in  the  world  of  sense  ?  Then  I  ask 
again, — How  dost  thou  perceive  these  changes?  I 
comprehend  very  well  how  thou  canst  perceive  changes 
which  are  brought  about  by  the  mere  mechanism  of 
nature ;  for  the  law  of  this  mechanism  is  no  other  than 
the  law  of  thy  own  thought,  according  to  which,  this 
world  being  once  assumed,  it  is  carried  out  into  farther 
developments.  But  the  changes  of  which  we  now 
speak  are  not  brought  about  by  the  mere  mechanism 
of  nature,  but  by  a  free  will  elevated  above  all  nature ; 
and  only  in  so  far  as  thou  canst  regard  them  in  this 
character,  canst  thou  infer  from  them  the  existence  of 
free  beings  like  thyself.  Where  then  is  the  law  within 
thyself,  according  to  which  thou  canst  realize  the  de- 
terminations of  other  wills  absolutely  independent  of 
thee  ?  In  short,  this  mutual  recognition  and  reciprocal 
action  of  free  beings  in  this  world,  is  perfectly  inex- 
plicable by  the  laws  of  nature  or  of  thought,  and  can 
be  explained  only  through  the  One  in  whom  they  are 
united,  although  to  each  other  they  are  separate; 
through  the  Infinite  Will  who  sustains  and  embraces 


156  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

them  all  in  His  own  sphere.  Not  immediately  from 
thee  to  me,  nor  from  me  to  thee,  flows  forth  the  knowl- 
edge which  we  have  of  each  other ; — we  are  separated 
by  an  insurmountable  barrier.  Only  through  the  com- 
mon fountain  of  our  spiritual  being  do  we  know  of  each 
other ;  only  in  Him  do  we  recognise  each  other,  and  in- 
fluence each  other.  "  Here  reverence  the  image  of 
freedom  upon  the  earth ; — here,  a  work  which  bears  its 
impress : " — thus  is  it  proclaimed  within  me  by  the 
voice  of  that  Will,  which  speaks  to  me  only  in  so  far 
as  it  imposes  duties  upon  me ; — and  the  only  principle 
through  which  I  recognise  thee  and  thy  work,  is  the 
command  of  conscience  to  respect  them. 

Whence,  then,  our  feelings,  our  sensible  intuitions, 
our  discursive  laws  of  thought,  on  all  which  is  founded 
the  external  world  which  we  behold,  in  which  we  be- 
lieve that  we  exert  an  influence  on  each  other?  With 
respect  to  the  two  last — our  sensible  intuitions  and  our 
laws  of  thought — to  say,  these  are  laws  of  reason  in 
itself,  is  only  to  give  no  satisfactory  answer  at  all.  For 
us,  indeed,  who  are  excluded  from  the  pure  domain  of 
reason  in  itself,  it  may  be  impossible  to  think  otherwise, 
or  to  conceive  of  reason  under  any  other  law.  But  the 
true  law  of  reason  in  itself  is  the  practical  law,  the  law 
of  the  super-sensual  world,  or  of  that  sublime  Will. 
And,  leaving  this  for  a  moment  undecided,  whence 
comes  our  universal  agreement  as  to  feelings,  which, 
nevertheless,  are  something  positive,  immediate,  inex- 
plicable? On  this  agreement  in  feeling,  perception, 
and  in  the  laws  of  thought,  however,  it  depends  that 
we  all  behold  the  same  external  world. 

"  It  is  a  harmonious,  although  inconceivable,  limita- 
tion of  the  infinite  rational  beings  who  compose  our 
race ;  and  only  by  means  of  such  a  harmonious  limita- 


BOOK  III.    FAITH.  157 

tion  do  they  become  a  race :  " — thus  answers  the  philos- 
ophy of  mere  knowledge,  and  here  it  must  rest  as  its 
highest  point.  But  what  can  set  a  limit  to  reason  but 
reason  itself? — what  can  limit  all  finite  reason  but  the 
Infinite  Reason  ?  This  universal  agreement  concerning 
a  sensible  world, — assumed  and  accepted  by  us  as  the 
foundation  of  all  our  other  life,  and  as  the  sphere  of 
our  duty — which,  strictly  considered,  is  just  as  incom- 
prehensible as  our  unanimity  concerning  the  products 
of  our  reciprocal  freedom, — this  agreement  is  the  re- 
sult of  the  One  Eternal  Infinite  Will.  Our  faith,  of 
which  we  have  spoken  as  faith  in  duty,  is  only  faith  in 
Him,  in  His  reason,  in  His  truth.  What,  then,  is  the 
peculiar  and  essential  truth  which  we  accept  in  the 
world  of  sense,  and  in  which  we  believe  ?  Nothing  less 
than  that  from  our  free  and  faithful  performance  of 
our  duty  in  this  world,  there  will  arise  to  us  throughout 
eternity  a  life  in  which  our  freedom  and  morality  may 
still  continue  their  development.  If  this  be  true,  then 
indeed  is  there  truth  in  our  world,  and  the  only  truth 
possible  for  finite  beings ;  and  it  must  be  true,  for  this 
world  is  the  result  of  the  Eternal  Will  in  us, — and  that 
Will,  by  the  law  of  His  own  being,  can  have  no  other 
purpose  with  respect  to  finite  beings,  than  that  which 
we  have  set  forth. 

That  Eternal  Will  is  thus  assuredly  the  Creator  of 
the  World,  in  the  only  way  in  which  He  can  be  so,  and 
in  the  only  way  in  which  it  needs  creation: — in  the 
finite  reason.  Those  who  regard  Him  as  building  up 
a  world  from  an  everlasting  inert  matter,  which  must 
still  remain  inert  and  lifeless, — like  a  vessel  made  by 
human  hands,  not  an  eternal  procession  of  His  self- 
development, — or  who  ascribe  to  Him  the  production 
of  a  material  universe  out  of  nothing,  know  neither 


158  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

the  world  nor  Him.  If  matter  only  can  be  reality,  then 
were  the  world  indeed  nothing,  and  throughout  all 
eternity  would  remain  nothing.  Reason  alone  ex- 
ists:— the  Infinite  in  Himself, — the  finite  in  Him  and 
through  Him.  Only  in  our  minds  has  He  created  a 
world ;  at  least  that  from  which  we  unfold  it,  and  that 
by  which  we  unfold  it; — the  voice  of  duty,  and  har- 
monious feelings,  intuitions,  and  laws  of  thought.  It 
is  His  light  through  which  we  behold  the  light,  and  all 
that  it  reveals  to  us.  In  our  minds  He  still  creates  this 
world,  and  acts  upon  it  by  acting  upon  our  minds 
through  the  call  of  duty,  as  soon  as  another  free  being 
changes  aught  therein.  In  our  minds  He  upholds  this 
world,  and  thereby  the  finite  existence  of  which  alone 
we  are  capable,  by  continually  evolving  from  each 
state  of  our  existence  other  states  in  succession.  When 
He  shall  have  sufficiently  proved  us  according  to  His 
supreme  designs,  for  our  next  succeeding  vocation, 
and  we  shall  have  sufficiently  cultivated  ourselves  for 
entering  upon  it,  then,  by  that  which  we  call  death, 
will  He  annihilate  for  us  this  life,  and  introduce  us 
to  a  new  life,  the  product  of  our  virtuous  actions.  All 
our  life  is  His  life.  We  are  in  His  hand^and  abide 
therein,  and  no  one  can  pluck  us  out  of  His  hand. 
We  are  eternal,  because  He  is  eternal. 

Sublime  and  Living  Will !  named  by  no  name,  com- 
passed by  no  thought !  I  may  well  raise  my  soul  to 
Thee,  for  Thou  and  I  are  not  divided.  Thy  voice 
sounds  within  me,  mine  resounds  in  Thee ;  and  all  my 
thoughts,  if  they  be  but  good  and  true,  live  in  Thee 
also.  In  Thee,  the  Incomprehensible,  I  myself,  and 
the  world  in  which  I  live,  become  clearly  comprehen- 
sible to  me;  all  the  secrets  of  my  existence  are  laid 
open,  and  perfect  harmony  arises  in  my  soul. 


BOOK  III.    FAITH.  153 

Thou  art  best  known  to  the  child-like,  devoted,  sim- 
ple mind.  To  it  Thou  art  the  searcher  of  hearts,  who 
seest  its  inmost  depths;  the  ever-present  true  witness 
of  its  thoughts,  who  knowest  its  truth,  who  knowest 
it  though  all  the  world  know  it  not.  Thou  art  the 
Father  who  ever  desirest  its  good,  who  rulest  all 
things  for  the  best.  To  Thy  will  it  unhesitatingly 
resigns  itself :  "  Do  with  me,"  it  says,  "  what  thou 
wilt ;  I  know  that  it  is  good,  for  it  is  Thou  who  doest 
it."  The  inquisitive  understanding,  which  has  heard 
of  Thee,  but  seen  Thee  not,  would  teach  us  thy  na- 
ture; and  as  Thy  image,  shows  us  a  monstrous  and 
incongruous  shape,  which  the  sagacious  laugh  at,  and 
the  wise  and  good  abhor. 

I  hide  my  face  before  Thee,  and  lay  my  hand  upon 
my  mouth.  How  Thou  art,  and  seemest  to  Thine 
own  being,  I  can  never  know,  any  more  than  I  can 
assume  Thy  nature.  After  thousands  upon  thousands 
of  spirit-lives,  I  shall  comprehend  Thee  as  little  as  I 
do  now  in  this  earthly  house.  That  which  I  conceive, 
becomes  finite  through  my  very  conception  of  it;  and 
this  can  ney^r,  even  by  endless  exaltation,  rise  into 
the  Infinite.  Thou  differest  from  men,  not  in  degree 
but  in  nature.  In  every  .stage  of  their  advancement 
they  think  of  Thee  as  a  greater  man,  and  still  a 
greater;  but  never  as  God — the  Infinite, — whom  no 
measure  can  mete.  I  have  only  this  discursive,  pro- 
gressive thought,  and  I  can  conceive  of  no  other: — 
how  can  I  venture  to  ascribe  it  to  Thee?  In  the  Idea 
of  person  there  are  imperfections,  limitations : — how 
can  I  clothe  Thee  with  it  without  these? 

I  will  not  attempt  that  which  the  imperfection  of 
my  finite  nature  forbids,  and  which  would  be  useless 
to  rne : — How  Thou  art,  I  may  not  know.  But,  let  me 


160  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

be  what  I  ought  to  be,  and  Thy  relations  to  me — the 
mortal — and  to  all  mortals,  lie  open  before  my  eyes, 
and  surround  me  more  clearly  than  the  consciousness 
of  my  own  existence.  Thou  workest  in  me  the  knowl- 
edge of  my  duty,  of  my  vocation  in  the  world  of  rea- 
sonable beings; — how,  I  know  not,  nor  need  I  to 
know.  Thou  knowest  what  I  think  and  what  I  will : — 
how  Thou  canst  know,  through  what  act  thou  bring- 
est  about  that  consciousness,  I  cannot  understand, — 
nay,  I  know  that  the  idea  of  an  act,  of  a  particular  act 
of  consciousness,  belongs  to  me  alone,  and  not  to 
Thee, — the  Infinite  One.  Thou  wiliest  that  my  free 
obedience  shall  bring  with  it  eternal  consequences : — 
the  act  of  Thy  will  I  cannot  comprehend,  I  only  know 
that  it  is  not  like  mine.  Thou  doest,  and  Thy  will 
itself  is  the  deed ;  but  the  way  of  Thy  working  is  not 
as  my  ways, — I  cannot  trace  it.  Thou  livest  and  art, 
for  Thou  knowest  and  wiliest  and  workest,  omnipres- 
ent to  finite  Reason;  but  Thou  art  not  as  /  now  and 
always  must  conceive  of  being. 


In  the  contemplation  of  these  Thy  relations  to  me, 
the  finite  being,  will  I  rest  in  calm  blessedness.  I  know 
immediately  only  what  I  ought  to  do.  This  will  I  do, 
freely,  joyfully,  and  without  cavilling  or  sophistry,  for 
it  is  Thy  voice  which  commands  me  to  do  it ;  it  is  the 
part  assigned  to  me  in  the  spiritual  World-plan;  and 
the  power  with  which  I  shall  perform  it  is  Thy  power. 
Whatever  may  be  commanded  by  that  voice,  whatever 
executed  by  that  power,  is,  in  that  plan,  assuredly  and 
truly  good.  I  remain  tranquil  amid  all  the  events  of 
this  world,  for  they  are  in  Thy  world.  Nothing  can 
perplex  or  surprise  or  dishearten  me,  as  surely  as  Thou 


BOOK  III.    FAITH.  161 

livest,  and  I  can  look  upon  Thy  life.  For  in  Thee, 
and  through  Thee,  O  Infinite  One !  do  I  behold  even 
my  present  world  in  another  light.  Nature,  and  nat- 
ural consequences,  in  the  destinies  and  conduct  of  free 
beings,  as  opposed  to  Thee,  become  empty,  unmeaning 
words.  Nature  is  no  longer;  Thou,  only  Thou,  art. 
It  no  longer  appears  to  me  to  be  the  end  and  purpose 
of  the  present  world  to  produce  that  state  of  universal 
peace  among  men,  and  of  unlimited  dominion  over  the 
mechanism  of  nature,  for  its  own  sake  alone, — but  that 
this  should  be  produced  by  man  himself, — and,  since 
it  is  expected  from  all,  that  it  should  be  produced  by 
all,  as  one  great,  free,  moral,  community.  Nothing 
new  and  better  for  an  individual  shall  be  attainable, 
except  through  his  own  virtuous  will;  nothing  new 
and  better  for  a  community,  except  through  the  com- 
mon will  being  in  accordance  with  duty : — this  is  a  fun- 
damental law  of  the  great  moral  empire,  of  which  the 
present  life  is  a  part.  The  good  will  of  the  individual 
is  thus  often  lost  to  this  world,  because  it  is  but  the  will 
of  the  individual,  and  the  will  of  the  majority  is  not  in 
harmony  with  his, — and  then  its  results  are  to  be  found 
solely  in  a  future  world;  while  even  the  passions  and 
vices  of  men  cooperate  in  the  attainment  of  good, — • 
not  in  and  for  themselves,  for  in  this  sense  good  can 
never  come  out  of  evil, — but  by  holding  the  balance 
against  the  opposite  vices,  and,  at  last,  by  their  excess, 
annihilating  these  antagonists,  and  themselves  with 
them.  Oppression  could  never  have  gained  the  upper 
hand  in  human  affairs,  unless  the  cowardice,  baseness, 
and  mutual  mistrust  of  men  had  smoothed  the  way  to 
it.  It  will  continue  to  increase,  until  it  extirpate  cow- 
ardice and  slavishness;  and  despair  itself  at  last  re- 
awaken courage.  Then  shall  the  two  opposite  vices 


1 62  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

have  annihilated  each  other,  and  the  noblest  of  all 
human  relations,  lasting  freedom,  come  forth  from 
their  antagonism. 

The  actions  of  free  beings,  strictly  considered,  have 
results  only  in  other  free  beings ;  for  in  them,  and  for 
them  alone,  there  is  a  world ;  and  that  in  which  they 
all  agree,  is  itself  the  •  world.  But  they  have  these 
results  only  through  the  Infinite  Will, — the  medium 
through  which  all  individual  beings  influence  each 
other.  But  the  announcement,  the  publication  of  this 
Will  to  us,  is  always  a  call  to  a  particular  duty.  Thus 
even  what  we  call  evil  in  the  world,  the  consequence 
of  the  abuse  of  freedom,  exists  only  through  Him ;  and 
it  exists  for  those  who  experience  it  only  in  so  far  as, 
through  it,  duties  are  laid  upon  them.  Were  it  not  in 
the  eternal  plan  of  our  moral  culture,  and  the  culture 
of  our  whole  race,  that  precisely  these  duties  should 
be  laid  upon  us,  they  would  not  be  so  laid  upon  us ; 
and  that  through  which  they  are  laid  upon  us — i.  e. 
what  we  call  evil — would  not  have  been  produced. 
In  so  far,  everything  that  is,  is  good,  and  absolutely 
legitimate.  There  is  but  one  world  possible, — a  thor- 
oughly good  world.  All  that  happens  in  this  world  is 
subservient  to  the  improvement  and  culture  of  man, 
and,  by  means  of  this,  to  the  promotion  of  the  purpose 
of  his  earthly  existence.  It  is  this  higher  World-plan 
which  we  call  Nature,  when  we  say, — Nature  leads 
men  through  want  to  industry ;  through  the  evils  of 
general  disorder  to  a  just  constitution;  through  the 
miseries  of  continual  wars  to  endless  peace  on  earth. 
Thy  will,  O  Infinite  One !  thy  Providence  alone,  is  this 
higher  Nature.  This,  too,  is  best  understood  by  art- 
less simplicity,  when  it  regards  this  life  as  a  place  of 
trial  and  culture,  as  a  school  for  eternity ;  when,  in  all 


BOOK  III.    FAITH.  163 

the  events  of  life,  the  most  trivial  as  well  as  the  most 
important,  it  beholds  thy  guiding  Providence  dispos- 
ing all  for  the  best;  when  it  firmly  believes  that  all 
things  must  work  together  for  the  good  of  those  who 
love  their  duty,  and  who  know  Thee. 


Oh!  I  have,  indeed,  dwelt  in  darkness  during  the 
past  days  of  my  life !  I  have  indeed  heaped  error  upon 
error,  and  imagined  myself  wise!  Now,  for  the  first 
time,  do  I  wholly  understand  the  doctrine  which  from 
thy  lips,  O  Wonderful  Spirit !  seemed  so  strange  to  me, 
although  my  understanding  had  nothing  to  oppose  to 
it;  for  now,  for  the  first  time,  do  I  comprehend  it  in 
its  whole  compass,  in  its  deepest  foundations,  and 
through  all  its  consequences. 

Man  is  not  a  product  of  the  world  of  sense,  and  the 
end  of  his  existence  cannot  be  attained  in  it.  His  vo- 
cation transcends  Time  and  Space,  and  everything 
that  pertains  to  sense.  What  he  is,  and  to  what  he  is 
to  train  himself,  that  he  must  know ; — as  his  vocation 
is  a  lofty  one,  he  must  be  able  to  raise  his  thoughts 
above  all  the  limitations  of  sense.  He  must  accom- 
plish it: — where  his  being  finds  its  home,  there  his 
thoughts  too  seek  their  dwelling-place;  and  the  truly 
human  mode  of  thought,,  that  which  alone  is  worthy 
of  him,  that  in  which  his  whole  spiritual  strength  is 
manifested,  is  that  whereby  he  raises  himself  above 
those  limitations,  whereby  all  that  pertains  to  sense 
vanishes  into  nothing, — into  a  mere  reflection,  in  mor- 
tal eyes,  of  the  One,  Self-existent  Infinite. 

Many  have  raised  themselves  to  this  mode  of 
thought,  without  scientific  inquiry,  merely  by  their 
nobleness  of  heart  and  their  pure  moral  instinct,  be- 


1 64  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

cause  their  life  has  been  preeminently  one  of  feeling 
and  sentiment.  They  have  denied,  by  their  conduct, 
the  efficiency  and  reality  of  the  world  of  sense,  and 
made  it  of  no  account  in  regulating  their  resolutions 
and  their  actions ; — whereby  they  have  not  indeed  made 
it  clear,  by  reasoning,  that  this  world  has  no  existence 
for  the  intellect.  Those  who  could  dare  to  say,  "  Our 
citizenship  is  in  heaven;  we  have  here  no  continuing 
city,  but  we  seek  one  to  come ; " — those  whose  chief 
principle  it  was  "  to  die  to  the  world,  to  be  born  again, 
and  already  here  below  to  enter  upon  a  new  life," — 
certainly  set  no  value  whatever  on  the  things  of  sense, 
and  were,  to  use  the  language  of  the  schools,  practical 
Transcendental  Idealists. 

Others,  who,  besides  possessing  the  natural  prone- 
ness  to  mere  sensuous  activity  which  is  common  to  us 
all,  have  also  added  to  its  power  by  the  adoption  of 
similar  habits  of  thought,  until  they  have  got  wholly 
entangled  in  it,  and  it  has  grown  with  their  growth, 
and  strengthened  with  their  strength,  can  raise  them- 
selves above  it,  permanently  and  completely,  only  by 
persistent  and  conclusive  thought;  otherwise,  with  the 
purest  moral  intentions,  they  would  be  continually 
drawn  down  again  by  their  understanding,  and  their 
whole  being  would  remain  a  prolonged  and  insoluble 
contradiction.  For  these,  the  philosophy  which  I  now, 
for  the  first  time,  thoroughly  understand,  will  be  the 
first  power  that  shall  set  free  the  imprisoned  Psyche 
and  unfold  her  wings,  so  that,  hovering  for  a  moment 
above  her  former  self,  she  may  cast  a  glance  on  her 
abandoned  slough,  and  then  soar  upwards  thencefor- 
ward to  live  and  move  in  higher  spheres. 


BOOK  III.    FAITH.  165 

Blessed  be  the  hour  in  which  I  first  resolved  to  in- 
quire into  myself  and  my  vocation!  All  my  doubts 
are  solved;  I  know  what  I  can  know,  and  have  no 
apprehensions  regarding  that  which  I  cannot  know.  I 
am  satisfied;  perfect  harmony  and  clearness  reign  in 
my  soul,  and  a  new  and  more  glorious  spiritual  exist- 
ence begins  for  me. 

My  entire  complete  vocation  I  cannot  comprehend; 
what  I  shall  be  hereafter  transcends  all  my  thoughts. 
A  part  of  that  vocation  is  concealed  from  me;  it  is 
visible  only  to  One,  to  the  Father  of  Spirits,  to  whose 
care  it  is  committed.  I  know  only  that  it  is  sure,  and 
that  it  is  eternal  and  glorious  like  Himself.  But  that 
part  of  it  which  is  confided  to  myself,  I  know,  and 
know  it  thoroughly,  for  it  is  the  root  of  all  my  other 
knowledge.  I  know  assuredly,  in  every  moment  of 
my  life,  what  I  ought  to  do;  and  this  is  my  whole 
vocation  in  so  far  as  it  depends  on  me.  From  this 
point,  since  my  knowledge  does  not  reach  beyond  it, 
I  shall  not  depart ;  I  shall  not  desire  to  know  aught 
beyond  this;  I  shall  take  my  stand  upon  this  central 
point,  and  firmly  root  myself  here.  To  this  shall  all 
my  thoughts  and  endeavours,  my  whole  powers,  be 
directed;  my  whole  existence  shall  be  interwoven 
with  it. 

I  ought,  as  far  as  in  me  lies,  to  cultivate  my  under- 
standing and  to  acquire  knowledge; — but  only  with 
the  purpose  of  preparing  thereby  within  me  a  larger 
field  and  wider  sphere  of  duty.  I  ought  to  desire  to 
have  much; — in  order  that  much  may  be  required  of 
me.  I  ought  to  exercise  my  powers  and  capacities  in 
every  possible  way ; — but  only  in  order  to  render  my- 
self a  more  serviceable  and  fitting  instrument  of  duty, 
for  until  the  commandment  shall  have  been  realized 


V 

166  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

in  the  outward  world,  by  means  of  my  whole  person- 
ality, I  am  answerable  for  it  to  my  conscience.  I  ought 
to  exhibit  in  myself,  as  far  as  I  am  able,  humanity  in 
all  its  completeness ;— not  for  the  mere  sake  of  human- 
ity, which  in  itself  has  not  the  slightest  worth,  but  in 
order  that  virtue,  which  alone  has  worth  in  itself,  may 
be  exhibited  in  its  highest  perfection  in  human  nature. 
I  ought  to  regard  myself,  body  and  soul,  with  all  that 
is  in  me  or  that  belongs  to  me,  only  as  a  means  of 
duty ;  and  only  be  solicitous  to  fulfil  that,  and  to  make 
myself  able  to  fulfil  it,  as  far  as  in  me  lies.  But  when 
the  commandment, — provided  only  that  it  shall  have 
been  in  truth  the  commandment  which  I  have  obeyed, 
and  I  have  been  really  conscious  only  of  the  pure,  sin- 
gle intention  of  obeying  it, — when  the  commandment 
shall  have  passed  beyond  my  personal  being  to  its 
realization  in  the  outward  world,  then  I  have  no  more 
anxiety  about  it,  for  thenceforward  it  is  committed 
into  the  hands  of  the  Eternal  Will.  Farther  care  or 
anxiety  would  be  but  idle  self-torment;  would  be  un- 
belief and  distrust  of  that  Infinite  Will.  I  shall  never 
dream  of  governing  the  world  in  His  stead ;  of  listen- 
ing to  the  voice  of  my  own  imperfect  wisdom  instead 
of  to  His  voice  in  my  conscience ;  or  of  substituting 
the  partial  views  of  a  short-sighted  creature  for  His 
vast  plan  which  embraces  the  universe.  I  know  that 
thereby  I  should  lose  my  own  place  in  His  order,  and 
in  the  order  of  all  spiritual  being. 

As  with  calmness  and  devotion  I  reverence  this 
higher  Providence,  so  in  my  actions  ought  I  to  rever- 
ence the  freedom  of  other  beings  around  me.  The 
question  for  me  is  not  what  they,  according  to  my 
conceptions,  ought  to  do,  but  what  I  may  venture  to 
do  in  order  to  induce  them  to  do  it.  I  can  only  desire 


BOOK  III.    FAITH.  167 

to  act  on  their  conviction  and  their  will  as  far  as  the 
order  of  society  and  their  own  consent  will  permit; 
but  by  no  means,  without  their  conviction  and  consent, 
to  influence  their  powers  and  relations.  They  do  what 
they  do  on  their  own  responsibility ;  with  this  I  neither 
can  nor  dare  intermeddle,  and  the  Eternal  Will  will 
dispose  all  for  the  best.  It  concerns  me  more  to  re- 
spect their  freedom,  than  to  hinder  or  prevent  what 
to  me  seems  evil  in  its  use. 


In  this  point  of  view  I  become  a  new  creature,  and 
my  whole  relations  to  the  existing  world  are  changed. 
The  ties  by  which  my  mind  was  formerly  united  to 
this  world,  and  by  whose  secret  guidance  I  followed 
all  its  movements,  are  for  ever  sundered,  and  I  stand 
free,  calm  and  immovable,  a  universe  to  myself.  No 
longer  through  my  affections,  but  by  my  eye  alone,  do 
I  apprehend  outward  objects  and  am  connected  with 
them;  and  this  eye  itself  is  purified  by  freedom,  and 
looks  through  error  and  deformity  to  the  True  and 
Beautiful,  as  upon  the  unruffled  surface  of  water 
shapes  are  more  purely  mirrored  in  a  milder  light. 

My  mind  is  for  ever  closed  against  embarrassment 
and  perplexity,  against  uncertainty,  doubt,  and  anx- 
iety;— my  heart,  against  grief,  repentance  and  desire. 
There  is  but  one  thing  that  I  may  know, — namely, 
what  I  ought  to  do ;  and  this  I  always  know  infallibly. 
Concerning  all  else  I  know  nothing,  and  know  that  I 
know  nothing.  I  firmly  root  myself  in  this  my  igno- 
rance, and  refrain  from  harassing  myself  with  conjec- 
tures concerning  that  of  which  I  know  nothing.  No 
occurrence  in  this  world  can  affect  me  either  with  joy 
or  sorrow;  calm  and  unmoved  I  look  down  upon  all 


i68  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

things,  for  I  know  that  I  cannot  explain  a  single  event, 
nor  comprehend  its  connexion  with  that  which  alone 
concerns  me.  All  that  happens  belongs  to  the  plan  of 
the  Eternal  World,  and  is  good  in  its  place :  thus  much 
I  know ; — what  in  this  plan  is  pure  gain,  what  is  only 
a  means  for  the  removal  of  some  existing  evil,  what 
therefore  ought  to  afford  me  more  or  less  satisfaction, 
I  know  not.  In  His  world  all  things  prosper; — this 
satisfies  me,  and  in  this  belief  I  stand  fast  as  a  rock ; — 
but  what  in  His  world  is  merely  the  germ,  what  the 
blossom,  and  what  the  fruit  itself,  I  know  not. 

The  only  matter  in  which  I  can  be  concerned  is  the 
progress  of  reason  and  morality  in  the  world  of  reason- 
able beings;  and  this  only  for  its  own  sake, — for  the 
sake  of  this  progress.  Whether  I  or  some  one  else  be 
the  instrument  of  this  progress,  whether  it  be  my  deed 
or  that  of  another  which  prospers  or  is  prevented,  is 
of  no  importance  to  me.  I  regard  myself  merely  as 
one  of  the  instruments  for  carrying  out  the  purpose 
of  reason ;  I  respect,  love,  or  feel  an  interest  in  myself 
only  as  such  an  instrument,  and  desire  the  successful 
issue  of  my  deed  only  in  so  far  as  it  promotes  this 
purpose.  In  like  manner,  I  regard  all  the  events  of 
this  world  only  with  reference  to  this  one  purpose; 
whether  they  proceed  from  me  or  from  others,  whether 
they  relate  directly  to  me  or  to  others.  My  breast  is 
steeled  against  annoyance  on  account  of  personal  of- 
fences and  vexations,  or  exultation  in  personal  merit; 
for  my  whole  personality  has  disappeared  in  the  con- 
templation of  the  purpose  of  my  being. 

Should  it  ever  seem  to  me  as  if  truth  had  been  put. 
to  silence,  and  virtue  expelled  from  the  world;  as  if 
folly  and  vice  had  now  summoned  all  their  powers, 
and  even  assumed  the  place  of  reason  and  true  wis- 


BOOK  III.    FAITH.  169 

dom; — should  it  happen,  that  just  when  all  good  men 
looked  with  hope  for  the  regeneration  of  the  human 
race,  everything  should  become  even  worse  than  it 
had  been  before; — should  the  work,  well  and  happily 
begun,  on  which  the  eyes  of  all  true-minded  men  were 
fixed  with  joyous  expectation,  suddenly  and  unexpect- 
edly be  changed  into  the  vilest  forms  of  evil, — these 
things  will  not  disturb  me ;  and  as  little  will  I  be  per- 
suaded to  indulge  in  idleness,  neglect,  or  false  security, 
on  account  of  an  apparent  rapid  growth  of  enlighten- 
ment, a  seeming  diffusion  of  freedom  and  independ- 
ence, an  increase  of  more  gentle  manners,  peaceful- 
ness,  docility,  and  general  moderation  among  men,  as 
if  now  everything  were  attained.  Thus  it  appears  to 
me ;  or  rather  it  is  so,  for  it  is  actually  so  to  me ;  and 
I  know  in  both  cases,  as  indeed  I  know  in  all  possible 
cases,  what  I  have  next  to  do.  As  to  everything  else, 
I  rest  in  the  most  perfect  tranquillity,  for  I  know 
nothing  whatever  about  any  other  thing.  Those,  to 
me,  so  sorrowful  events  may,  in  the  plan  of  the  Eternal 
One,  be  the  direct  means  for  the  attainment  of  a  good 
result ; — that  strife  of  evil  against  good  may  be  their 
last  decisive  struggle,  and  it  may  be  permitted  to  the 
former  to  assemble  all  its  powers  for  this  encounter 
only  to  lose  them,  and  thereby  to  exhibit  itself  in  all 
its  impotence.  These,  to  me,  joyful  appearances  may 
rest  on  very  uncertain  foundations ; — what  I  had  taken 
for  enlightenment  may  perhaps  be  but  hollow  super- 
ficiality, and  aversion  to  all  true  ideas;  what  I  had 
taken  for  independence  but  unbridled  passion;  what  I 
had  taken  for  gentleness  and  moderation  but  weakness 
and  indolence.  I  do  not  indeed  know  this,  but  it  might 
be  so ;  and  then  I  should  have  as  little  cause  to  mourn 
over  the  one  as  to  rejoice  over  the  other.  But  I  do 


170  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

know,  that  I  live  in  a  world  which  belongs  to  the 
Supreme  Wisdom  and  Goodness,  who  thoroughly  com- 
prehends its  plan,  and  will  infallibly  accomplish  it; 
and  in  this  conviction  I  rest,  and  am  blessed. 

That  there  are  free  beings,  destined  to  reason  and 
morality,  who  strive  against  reason,  and  call  forth  all 
their  powers  to  the  support  of  folly  and  vice; — just  as 
little  will  this  disturb  me,  and  stir  up  within  me  indig- 
nation and  wrath.  The  perversity  which  would  hate 
what  is  good  because  it  is  good,  and  promote  evil 
merely  from  a  love  of  evil  as  such, — this  perversity 
which  alone  could  excite  my  just  anger,  I  ascribe  to 
no  one  who  bears  the  form  of  man,  for  I  know  that  it 
does  not  lie  in  human  nature.  I  know  that  for  all  who 
act  thus,  there  is  really,  in  so  far  as  they  act  thus, 
neither  good  nor  evil,  but  only  an  agreeable  or  dis- 
agreeable feeling;  that  they  do  not  stand  under  their 
own  dominion,  but  under  the  power  of  Nature;  and 
that  it  is  not  themselves,  but  this  nature  in  them, 
which  seeks  the  former  and  flies  from  the  latter  with 
all  its  strength  without  regard  to  whether  it  be  other- 
wise good  or  evil.  I  know  that  being,  once  for  all, 
what  they  are,  they  cannot  act  in  any  respect  other- 
wise than  as  they  do  act,  and  I  am  very  far  from  get- 
ting angry  with  necessity,  or  indulging  in  wrath 
against  blind  and  unconscious  Nature.  Herein  truly 
lies  their  guilt  and  unworthiness  that  they  are  what 
they  are;  and  that,  in  place  of  being  free  and  inde- 
pendent, they  have  resigned  themselves  to  the  current 
of  mere  natural  impulse. 

It  is  this  alone  which  could  excite  my  indignation; 
but  here  I  should  fall  into  absolute  absurdity.  I  can- 
not call  them  to  account  for  their  want  of  freedom, 
without  first  attributing  to  them  the  power  of  making 


BOOK  III.    FAITH.  171 

themselves  free.  I  wish  to  be  angry  with  them,  and 
find  no  object  for  my  wrath.  What  they  actually  are, 
does  not  deserve  my  anger;  what  might  deserve  it, 
they  are  not,  and  they  would  not  deserve  it,  if  they 
were.  My  displeasure  would  strike  an  impalpable 
nonentity.  I  must  indeed  always  treat  them,  and  ad- 
dress them,  as  if  they  were  what  I  well  know  they  are 
not;  I  must  always  suppose  in  them  that  whereby 
alone  I  can  approach  them  and  communicate  with 
them.  Duty  commands  me  to  act  towards  them  ac- 
cording to  a  conception  of  them  the  opposite  of  that 
which  I  arrive  at  by  contemplating  them.  And  thus 
it  may  certainly  happen  that  I  turn  towards  them  with 
a  noble  indignation,  as  if  they  were  free,  in  order  to 
arouse  within  them  a  similar  indignation  against  them- 
selves,— an  indignation  which  in  my  own  heart  I  can- 
not reasonably  entertain.  It  is  only  the  practical  man 
of  society  within  me  whose  anger  is  excited  by  folly 
and  vice;  not  the  contemplative  man  who  reposes  un- 
disturbed in  the  calm  serenity  of  his  own  spirit. 

Should  I  be  visited  by  corporeal  suffering,  pain,  or 
disease,  I  cannot  avoid  feeling  them,  for  they  are  acci- 
dents of  my  nature ;  and  as  long  as  I  remain  here 
below,  I  am  a  part  of  Nature.  But  they  shall  not 
grieve  me.  They  can  only  touch  the  nature  with 
which,  in  a  wonderful  manner,  I  am  united, — not  my- 
self, the  being  exalted  above  all  Nature.  The  sure 
end  of  all  pain,  and  of  all  sensibility  to  pain,  is  death ; 
and  of  all  things  which  the  mere  natural  man  is  wont 
to  regard  as  evils,  this  is  to  me  the  least.  I  shall  not 
die  to  myself,  but  only  to  others ;  to  those  who  remain 
behind,  from  whose  fellowship  I  am  torn: — for  my- 
self the  hour  of  Death  is  the  hour  of  Birth  to  a  new, 
more  excellent  life. 


172  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

Now  that  my  heart  is  closed  against  all  desire  for 
earthly  things,  now  that  I  have  no  longer  any  sense 
for  the  transitory  and  perishable,  the  universe  appears 
before  my  eyes  clothed  in  a  more  glorious  form.  The 
dead  heavy  mass,  which  only  filled  up  space,  has  van- 
ished; and  in  its  place  there  flows  onward,  with  the 
rushing  music  of  mighty  waves,  an  eternal  stream  of 
life  and  power  and  action,  which  issues  from  the 
original  Source  of  all  life — from  Thy  Life,  O  Infinite 
One;  for  all  life  is  Thy  Life,  and  only  the  religious 
eye  penetrates  to  the  realm  of  True  Beauty. 

I  am  related  to  Thee,  and  what  I  behold  around  me 
is  related  to  me;  all  is  life  and  blessedness,  and  re- 
gards me  with  bright  spirit-eyes,  and  speaks  with 
spirit-voices  to  my  heart.  In  all  the  forms  that  sur- 
round me,  I  behold  the  reflection  of  my  own  being, 
broken  up  into  countless  diversified  shapes,  as  the 
morning  sun,  broken  in  a  thousand  dewdrops,  sparkles 
towards  itself. 

Thy  Life,  as  alone  the  finite  mind  can  conceive  it,  is 
self-forming,  self-manifesting  Will: — this  Life, Clothed 
to  the  eye  of  the  mortal  with  manifold  sensuous  forms, 
flows  forth  through  me,  and  throughout  the  immeas- 
urable universe  of  Nature.  Here  it  streams  as  self- 
creating  and  self-forming  matter  through  my  veins 
and  muscles,  and  pours  its  abundance  into  the  tree, 
the  flower,  the  grass.  Creative  life  flows  forth  in  one 
continuous  stream,  drop  on  drop,  through  all  forms 
and  into  all  places  where  my  eye  can  follow  it;  and 
reveals  itself  to  me,  in  a  different  shape  in  each  vari- 
ous corner  of  the  universe,  as  the  same  power  by 
which  in  secret  darkness  my  own  frame  was  formed. 
There,  in  free  play,  it  leaps  and  dances  as  spontaneous 
motion  in  the  animal,  and  manifests  itself  in  each  new 


BOOK  III    FAITH.  173 

form  as  a  new,  peculiar,  self-subsisting  world: — the 
same  power  which,  invisibly  to  me,  moves  and  ani- 
mates my  own  frame.  Everything  that  lives  and 
moves  follows  this  universal  impulse,  this  one  princi- 
ple of  all  motion,  which,  from  one  end  of  the  universe 
to  the  other,  guides  the  harmonious  movement; — in 
the  animal  without  freedom;  in  me,  from  whom  in  the 
visible  world  the  motion  proceeds  although  it  has  not 
its  source  in  me,  with  freedom. 

But  pure  and  holy,  and  as  near  to  Thine  own  nature 
as  aught  can  be  to  mortal  eye,  does  this  Thy  Life  flow 
forth  as  the  bond  which  unites  spirit  with  spirit,  as  the 
breath  and  atmosphere  of  a  rational  world,  unimag- 
inable arid  incomprehensible,  and  yet  there,  clearly 
visible  to  the  spiritual  eye.  Borne  onward  in  this 
stream  of  light,  thought  floats  from  soul  to  soul,  with- 
out pause  or  variation,  and  returns  purer  and  brighter 
from  each  kindred  mind.  Through  this  mysterious 
union  does  each  individual  perceive,  understand,  and 
love  himself  only  in  another;  every  soul  develops 
itself  only  by  means  of  other  souls,  and  there  are  no 
longer  individual  men,  but  only  one  humanity;  no 
individual  thought,  or  love,  or  hate,  but  only  thought, 
love,  and  hate,  in  and  through  each  other.  Through 
this  wondrous  influence  the  affinity  of  spirits  in  the 
invisible  world  permeates  even  their  physical  nature; 
— manifests  itself  in  two  sexes,  which,  even  if  that 
spiritual  bond  could  be  torn  asunder,  would,  simply 
as  creatures  of  nature,  be  compelled  to  love  each 
other; — flows  forth  in  the  tenderness  of  parents  and 
children,  brothers  and  sisters,  as  if  the  souls  were  of 
one  blood  like  the  bodies,  and  their  minds  were 
branches  and  blossoms  of  the  same  stem; — and  from 
these,  embraces,  in  narrower  or  wider  circles,  the 


174  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

whole  sentient  world.  Even  at  the  root  of  their  hate, 
there  lies  a  secret  thirst  after  love;  and  no  enmity 
springs  up  but  from  friendship  denied. 

Through  that  which  to  others  seems  a  mere  dead 
mass,  my  eye  beholds  this  eternal  life  and  movement 
in  every  vein  of  sensible  and  spiritual  Nature,  and 
sees  this  life  rising  in  ever  increasing  growth,  and  ever 
purifying  itself  to  a  more  spiritual  expression.  The 
universe  is  to  me  no  longer  that  ever-recurring  circle, 
that  eternally-repeated  play,  that  monster  swallowing 
itself  up,  only  to  bring  itself  forth  again  as  it  was 
before ; — it  has  become  transfigured  before  me,  and 
now  bears  the  one  stamp  of  spiritual  life — a  constant 
progress  towards  higher  perfection  in  a  line  that  runs 
out  into  the  Infinite. 

The  sun  rises  and  sets,  the  stars  sink  and  reappear, 
the  spheres  hold  their  circle-dance; — but  they  never 
return  again  as  they  disappeared,  and  even  in  the 
bright  fountain  of  life  itself  there  is  life  and  progress. 
Every  hour  which  they  lead  on,  every  morning  and 
every  evening,  sinks  with  new  increase  upon  the 
world ;  new  life  and  new  love  descend  from  the  spheres 
like  dew-drops  from  the  clouds,  and  encircle  nature  as 
the  cool  night  the  earth. 

All  Death  in  Nature  is  Birth,  and  in  Death  itself 
appears  visibly  the  exaltation  of  Life.  There  is  no 
destructive  principle  in  Nature,  for  Nature  through- 
out is  pure,  unclouded  Life;  it  is  not  Death  which 
kills,  but  the  more  living  Life,  which,  concealed  behind 
the  former,  bursts  forth  into  new  development.  Death 
and  Birth  are  but  the  struggle  of  Life  with  itself  to 
assume  a  more  glorious  and  congenial  form.  And  my 
death, — how  can  it  be  aught  else,  since  I  am  not  a 
mere  show  and  semblance  of  life,  but  bear  within  me 


BOOK  III.    FAITH.  175 

the  one  original,  true,  and  essential  Life?  It  is  im- 
possible to  conceive  that  Nature  should  annihilate  a 
life  which  does  not  proceed  from  her; — the  Nature 
which  exists  for  me,  and  not  I  for  her. 

Yet  even  my  natural  life,  even  this  mere  outward 
manifestation  to  mortal  sight  of  the  inward  invisible 
Life,  she  cannot  destroy  without  destroying  herself; — 
she  who  only  exists  for  me,  and  on  account  of  me,  and 
exists  not  if  I  am  not.  Even  because  she  destroys  me 
must  she  animate  me  anew ;  it  is  only  my  Higher  Life, 
unfolding  itself  in  her,  before  which  my  present  life 
can  disappear;  and  what  mortals  call  Death  is  the 
visible  appearance  of  this  second  Life.  Did  no  reason- 
able being  who  had  once  beheld  the  light  of  this  world 
die,  there  would  be  no  ground  to  look  with  faith  for 
a  new  heavens  and  a  new  earth ;  the  only  possible  pur- 
pose of  Nature,  to  manifest  and  maintain  Reason, 
would  be  fulfilled  here  below,  and  her  circle  would 
be  completed.  But  the  very  act  by  which  she  consigns 
a  free  and  independent  being  to  death,  is  her  own 
solemn  entrance,  intelligible  to  all  Reason,  into  a  re- 
gion beyond  this  act  itself,  and  beyond  the  whole 
sphere  of  existence  which  is  thereby  closed.  Death  is 
the  ladder  by  which  my  spiritual  vision  rises  to  a  new 
Life  and  a  new  Nature. 

Every  one  of  my  fellow-creatures  who  leaves  this 
earthly  brotherhood  and  whom  my  spirit  cannot  re- 
gard as  annihilated  because  he  is  my  brother,  draws 
my  thoughts  after  him  beyond  the  grave; — he  is  still, 
and  to  him  belongs  a  place.  While  we  mourn  for  him 
here  below,  as  in  the  dim  realms  of  unconsciousness 
there  might  be  mourning  when  a  man  bursts  from 
them  into  the  light  of  this  world's  sun, — above  there 
is  rejoicing  that  a  man  is  born  into  that  world,  as  we 


176  THE  VOCATION  OF  MAN. 

citizens  of  the  earth  receive  with  joy  those  who  are 
born  unto  us.  When  I  shall  one  day  follow,  it  will 
be  but  joy  for  me;  sorrow  shall  remain  behind  in  the 
sphere  I  shall  have  left. 

The  world  on  which  but  now  I  gazed  with  wonder 
passes  away  from  before  me  and  sinks  from  my  sight. 
With  all  the  fulness  of  life,  order,  and  increase  which 
I  beheld  in  it,  it  is  yet  but  the  curtain  by  which  a 
world  infinitely  more  perfect  is  concealed  from  me, 
and  the  germ  from  which  that  other  shall  develop  it- 
self. My  FAITH  looks  behind  this  veil,  and  cherishes 
and  animates  this  germ.  It  sees  nothing  definite,  but 
it  expects  more  than  it  can  conceive  here  below,  more 
than  it  will  ever  be  able  to  conceive  in  all  time. 


Thus  do  I  live,  thus  am  I,  and  thus  am  I  unchange- 
able, firm,  and  completed  for  all  Eternity; — for  this 
is  no  existence  assumed  from  without, — it  is  my  own, 
true,  essential  Life  and  Being. 


INDEX. 


Accountability  and  guilt,  24. 
Action   determines  worth,    94. 
Activity  of  spirits,  173- 
All  things  as  one  whole,   n. 

Berlin,  v. 

Body,  a  sensible  manifestation  of 
self,  85. 

Carlyle,  iii. 

Causality,  principle  of,  21. 

Cause,  6,  8,  58. 

Civilization,   120. 

Cognition,  I  am  one  with  the  ob- 
ject of  my,6s. 

Complete  consciousness  of  the 
universe,   22. 

Conscience,    Obedience   to,    136; 
Voice  of,   154. 

Consciousness,  Immediate,  38,  44, 
51,  61,  71,  86;  is  self-contem- 
plation, 70;  of  self,  41,  88;  of 
that  which  is  not  myself,  88;  of 
the  object,  61,  78;  of  the  uni- 
verse, Complete,  22;  of  things, 
82;  root  of  truth,  101. 

Conviction  proceeds  from  the  will, 
100. 

Culture  proceeds  from  will,    100. 

Death  in  nature  is  birth,   174. 
Demand  for  better  world,   113. 
Determined,   Everything,   5. 
Dominion  of  man  over  nature,  117. 

End  of  my  action,  not  proposed 
for  its  own  sake,  112. 


Erlangen,  vi. 

Evil,  No  advantages  in,  126. 

Faith,  99,   102,  144,   145,  157,  176. 

Fichte's  death,  vi;  life,  ivff. 

Free  states,  125. 

Freedom,  57,133;  conceivable  only 
of  intelligence,  30;  of  other  be- 
ings, 1 66;  satisfies  heart,  32. 

German  people,   Addresses  to  the, 

vi. 
Guilt  and  accountability,  24. 

Hegel,  vii. 

Highest  good,  28,   130. 

I  am  a  free  being,  17;  immortal, 
141;  independent,  27;  not  the 
author,  but  the  reader,  xii;  sub- 
ject and  object,  66. 

Idealism,  vi. 

Impulse,  self-activity,  95. 

Indecision,  State  of,  35. 

Indifference  concerning  spiritual 
things,  146. 

Infinite  divisibility,  48, 

Intuition,  70,  77;  immediate  and 
infallible,  75;  Nature  of,  73. 

Jena,  v. 

Kant,  iv,  vii. 

Klopstock,  iv. 

Knowledge,  representations,  91; 
mediate  and  immediate,  55;  not 
reality,  91;  of  things,  70. 


INDEX. 


Law  of  duty,  140;  of  the  spiritual 
world,  148,  149,  151;  of  super- 
sensual  world,  151,  156. 

Life,  172;  present  and  future,  138. 

Man,  crudest  enemy  of  man,  117; 

not  product  of  world  of  sense, 

163. 
Mankind,  condemned  to  severe  toil, 

115- 

Nature,  4,  7;  blind  and  uncon- 
conscious,  170;  Formative  power 
of,  10,  14;  is  life,  174;'  Man- 
forming  power  of,  1 6,  17;  ne- 
cessarily determined,  6;  Think- 
ing principle  of,  20;  Violence 
of,  115. 

Necessity   exists   only   in   thought, 

83;  rigid,  25. 

Obedience,  must  serve  some  end, 
131;  to  conscience,  136. 

Objects,  4,  8,  40;  Sensible,  37. 

Objective  reality,  61. 

Organ,  by  which  to  apprehend  real- 
ity, 92,  99;  for  knowledge  of  ob- 
jects, 54- 

Origin  of  my  conception  of  ob- 
jects, 77. 

Other  thinking  beings,  21. 

Perception,  39;  No  outward,   71. 

Pforta,  iv. 

Practical  reason  is  the  root  of  all 
reason,  in. 

Principle  of  causality,  52. 

Purpose,  in  human  existence  lies 
beyond  life,  137;  partly  subjec- 
tive, partly  objective,  98. 

Rahn,  Hartmann,  iv. 
Rahn,  Johanna,  iv,  v. 
Reality  apprehended  by  faith,  99; 

sensuous  existence,  107. 
Reason,  Pure  activity  end  of,  140. 
Revelation,  Critique  of,  v. 
Rights,  Demand  for,  109. 
Schelling,  v. 
Schleiermacher,  v. 
Schlegel,  v. 


Schopenhauer,  vii. 

Self  unfolded  gradually,   13. 

Self-consciousness,   41,   88. 

Sensation,  consciousness  of  my 
own  state,  64;  an  immediate 
consciousness,  71. 

Sensations,  as  affections  of  my- 
self, 50;  in  myself,  42. 

Senses,  external,  37 ;     Faith  in  the, 

Space,  not  perceived,  50. 

Spiritual  things,  Indifference  con- 
cerning, 146. 

Spontaneity,  57. 

State,   Foundations  of  a  true,  123. 

Subjective  and  objective  elements, 
67. 

Substratum,  8,  9,  43,  50,  80. 

Super-sensual   world,    132. 

Supreme  Good,  28,  130. 

Thing-in-itself,   a  thought,  82. 
Thought,  the  source  of  action,  31. 
Tranquillity,    169. 
Transcendental    idealists,    164. 
Truth,    3;    Consciousness   root   of, 
101. 

Vocation,  i,  2,  99,  103,  106,  137, 
140,  1 60,  165;  of  race  to  unite 
into  one  body,  120;  To  do  is 
man's,  94. 

Voice,  of  conscience,   105,   107. 

Will,  23,  28;  Virtuous,  23,  138; 
Culture  proceeds  from,  100;  ef- 
ficient cause,  143;  Eternal,  157, 
1 66,  167;  Eternal,  creator  of 
the  world,  157;  Freedom  of,  154; 
from  double  point  of  view,  150; 
infinite,  152,  155,  157,  162;  is 
law,  151;  living  principle  of 
reason,  134,  140;  moral,  148; 
source  of  true  life  and  eternity, 
142. 

World,  object  and  sphere  of  du- 
ties, 1 08;  supersensual,  now 
present,  141;  visible  and  in- 
visible, 134. 

World-plan,    162. 


